Maybe I Will

We took a ride out to Annabelle's new school today. The year starts on August 5th, so she needed to pick up some uniform skirts and polos. While she tried on clothes with her mom, Heidi and I browsed the bookstore, shopping the spirit wear and school swag. Even though it was still summer, the store was doing brisk business, but despite the name of the establishment, the book inventory was minimal, and not a single one was sold in the time we were there.

Even so, (or perhaps therefore) it was kind of a festive vibe as kids from summer camp flooded in and out, noisily messing with the fidget display while waiting in line to buy cold drinks and snacks. I was charmed. "I like schools and kids," I said to Heidi. "Why did I retire, again?"

She rolled her eyes, perhaps considering the long hours, senseless politics, and other frustrations of the job. "Maybe you can just get a job at a school bookstore," she suggested.

Hmm. 

Mischief Managed

My sister had to work today, so Heidi and I decided to act like we were on vacation. 

First, we booked a pickleball court at the new indoor club and restaurant up the road, but then I realized I had made our reservation for tomorrow. "That will be something to look forward to!" we said, undeterred, and after taking the dogs for a walk in the park, we headed over to a new indoor mini-golf course and restaurant. 

The place was hopping, but we were able to reserve a tee time on one of the nine-hole courses. In addition to having four indoor courses, a full bar, and a pub-style menu, the place's gimmick is that each ball has a GPS locator in it, so your score is automatically calculated and displayed on the screen at each hole. Our games were really fun, and the customer service was excellent; everyone was friendly and helpful. 

After a couple of rounds, we made our way next door to a French bakery, where we split a Napoleon before starting toward our final destination, a shopping stop to get some things I forgot: a bathing suit and a couple of games. Then it was back home, having had a fun day and well-prepared for another one tomorrow.

All Roads

I'm always kind of excited when the map app suggests a different route for a familiar trip, so I was intrigued this morning as we headed down to Atlanta that the app was directing us to take I-95 instead of the usual I-85, as long as we were willing to risk flooding?! Even so, I was sure by the time we made it to Richmond, that old map would adjust and send us on our usual way, but the algorithm insisted that I-95 was best, and I obeyed.

And to be honest, the ETA was steady and comparable right until we and a massive storm system hit South Carolina at the same time. From there, although there were no floods, thank the Lord, our average speed was about 50 mph as we drove through torrential downpours, and the app did that maddening thing of adding time and more time to our estimated arrival. In the end, we were an hour longer than usual.

Despite all that, it was not a horrendous trip: the route was novel, the snacks were good, the company was excellent, and the destination? 

Worth every minute on the road.

Special Order

My hash browns this morning were the best yet since our breakfast club started meeting in June. Shredded potatoes were served in an oblong, crisp on the outside and tender within. Even so, I gave my breakfast only 4.5 out of 5 stars because they weren't quite crispy enough. 

Mary's pancakes weren't quite fluffy enough, either, but Heidi loved her BLT. "The bacon was cooked perfectly!" she reported, "not a single chewy spot." 

Perhaps the difference was that she had asked for her bacon to be extra crisp, although that hadn't necessarily done the trick elsewhere. As we discussed our breakfasts, I considered her request, and it occurred to me that I could order my potatoes extra crispy, too. I'm going to try that next time.

Unfortunately? Just asking won't make the pancakes any fluffier.

Not So Much Anymore

I remember a time when muggy summer days with temperatures in the mid to high 80s seemed unbearable. Stepping outside was like being wrapped in a tepid, soggy compress, along with an instant headache from the hazy sun in your eyes and the cicadas screaming in the trees. All the pools were like bath water, so the only relief was to draw the curtains, crank the a/c, lie on the couch, and watch movies on HBO in the darkened TV room, praying for a thunderstorm.  But even if it did rain, there was still too much moisture in the atmosphere for any nighttime relief, so the whole ordeal was on repeat until a front swept through, delivering cooler, dryer air.

But after the heatwave a couple of weeks ago? 

Days like those seem downright pleasant.

86 and Muggy? Yes, Please!

Update

Lately, my go-to breakfast has been one I thought I created myself: a slice of homemade sourdough toast, a smear of burrata, and a pile of local peach slices topped with just a sprinkle of cinnamon sugar. The invention is heavenly; each bite tastes like summer itself. 

This morning, as I prepared my usual meal, I realized that the dish was just a slightly elevated version of a classic sandwich my mom made for us when we were kids. Hers was cream cheese on white bread with peach jam made from fruit we had picked ourselves at a nearby orchard. 

Good stuff then, good stuff now.

Members of the Club

When the steady rain tapered to a drizzle this afternoon, we leashed up Lucy and set off for a loop around the neighborhood, with a stop at the garden. At the top of Superman Hill, we heard the far-off electronic strains of Pop Goes the Weasel, and we knew the ice cream truck was near. Of course, the four little girls in bathing suits dashing down a nearby driveway to wait excitedly on the curb only confirmed our observation. 

I was smiling when the big white van pulled up to serve anycomers, and when I looked up, I saw a young man hurrying over to join the crowd. He paused, and I did, too; there was something familiar about his eyes. "Do I know you?" I pointed.

It was only then I registered his shirt. A faded dolphin jumped from the waves above the words Dolphin Team 2018-19. "Weren't you my English teacher?" he said.

"Yeah!" I answered. "I can't believe you're still wearing that shirt!" 

"I know," he agreed. "I can't believe it still fits!"

In truth, the shirt was a little tight over his chest and biceps, but not necessarily in a bad way, and I was touched that he wore it at all, five years after sixth grade.

It still looks good!" I told him. "Enjoy your ice cream."