I was a little bleary and waiting for the coffee to brew when I pulled out my phone and launched the NYTimes Games app. First up was Wordle, and I punched in my usual starting word, TEACH. It took a moment to register that all the tiles had flipped to green. "There it is!" I whispered to myself when I realized today was my Wordle-in-one day.
My elation dimmed a bit later, though, when I was confronted with a familiar conundrum: if not teach, then what?
The sign was clear: Construction! Trail Closed. Violators will be prosecuted.
"Maybe we should turn around," Heidi suggested pragmatically.
"What construction?" I shrugged. The trail was a paved bike path through a sparse forest, and there was no construction in sight. True, there were no other hikers, either, a fact that struck us as odd when we parked at the trailhead.
We forged on, emerging into a vacant parking lot with beautiful new picnic pavilions and an empty visitors center. My trail app gave no indication we shouldn't continue.
"It's so weird," I said in a hushed voice, "and soooo nice." The facility was gorgeous. Bleached wood and glass all opened on a view of the woods and the reservoir beyond. We made our way down a wide path carpeted in pine needles that led to a new boardwalk. A little beyond was a dock with an empty boat rental office. The afternoon sun sparkled off the water.
"You're just going to keep going?" Heidi asked archly. "This place is giving me major creeper vibes."
I knew what she was talking about, but to me, it was so inviting. We walked to the end of the pier, reading the signage about water conservation and cleanliness. A shiny new pump stood by the railing, its spout emptying into a series of descending hammered copper sluiceways. I lifted the handle and pumped. A thin stream of water spilled into first trough and began its journey back to the reservoir. A hawk screamed above.
The solitary vibe of our visit was broken by the sound of voices. We looked south and saw some paddleboards and kayaks coming our way, then headed down the dock and back to the trail for the rest of our forbidden hike.
My eyes popped when I saw the featured recipe headline in the Times: Grape Jelly is the Secret to These Throwback Party Meatballs.
That dish was the specialty of our former principal, who brought it to every staff potluck and party. She delighted in watching the reaction of anyone who complimented the meatballs when she informed them of the secret ingredient. Truth be told, the meatballs were pretty good, even if the sauce was a little sweet to my taste.
That principal retired over a decade ago, after more than a decade of service (and serving meatballs!), so you have to figure the recipe is at least 25 years old. And now it's back-- can peanut butter soup be far behind?
Recently Heidi has expressed an interest in doing a little of the cooking around here. To be clear, I rarely find that task to be onerous; in fact, I love to cook, and I usually find it very relaxing. Even so, or perhaps therefore, I understand where Heidi is coming from, and I'm happy to help.
A few months ago, I received a special offer to subscribe to Cook's Illustrated. Although I don't recall the details, I do know that it was incentive enough to make me sign up for a year, especially since it was for both the online and print versions. I also remembered how I used to love the bimonthly delivery of that elegant publication with its clear prose and sharply defined graphics.
When my November/December issue arrived today, I confess to being slightly dismissive about the lead time. "It's still September!" I complained to Heidi as I opened the magazine. But what I found there reminded me how Heidi loves the Baking Illustrated book she was gifted years ago. "You should take a look at this when you get a chance," I suggested. "I think you'll enjoy all the tips and recipes."
A moment later she was paging through, reading the highlights and showing me the pictures. It wasn't long before she picked a pasta with broccoli sauce recipe to try for dinner tonight, and it sounds delicious!
"We don't have any handbaskets," a grocery store employee reported when she spotted me scanning the self-checkout area.
"Wow," I replied, "it doesn't even seem that busy this afternoon."
"Oh, it's not," she informed me. "We literally have zero handbaskets in the store."
"What happened?" I asked.
"Corporate came for a walkthrough," she shook her head. "We had started with, like, 400 baskets, and we were down to forty." She raised her eyebrows. "People were stealing them, so they just took them all away."
"That's awful," I said as I grabbed a small cart.
"Mm-hmm," she agreed. "Watch out, though," she gestured to my cart. "We don't have many of those either."
"Your good cholesterol is crazy good!" the PA told me at my physical.
I may have puffed up a bit, because she continued, "That's good genetics."
And when I deflated, because I hadn't actually accomplished anything, she added, "You could have genetically bad cholesterol, though, and you don't."
She did recommend a baseline cardiac plaque CAT scan, which I had the next day. And when I got those results back, zero percent, perhaps one of the few tests in the world where that score is the best, I wondered if I could take any credit for that!
Target was nearly empty as I was shopping today, making me an easy mark for the phone upgrade people often stationed near electronics. Rather than be rude, I smiled and shrugged. "I can give you two minutes," I said firmly.
"Can you give me five?" she countered. "It could save you a thousand dollars."
"We'll see," I replied.
She was a very nice young woman, but our conversation may have rattled her a bit because she was having trouble logging on. "The reception is terrible back here," I commented as we waited for the slow circle on her screen to stop turning. "I don't know how you get anything done."
"Do you have any discounts on your account?" she asked, perhaps to pass the time.
I nodded. "We have an educator's discount."
She laughed. "I knew you were a teacher!"
I tilted my head. "How?"
"My mom is a teacher," she explained. "And you are a lot like her. Very direct and clear about what you expect, but nice and supportive, too."
"Thanks," I said. "You're five minutes are up, though."
Her face fell.
"I can give you five more, though," I shrugged.
