Tots on the Run

The light was golden, and the air crisp this afternoon when we arrived at a nearby park for a track meet for kids ages 2 to 7. Some friends invited us to their 2-year-old's last race of the season, and although I'd never heard of such an event, it was easy to see why it would be popular.

About 50 kids competed in four age groups. The youngest, 2-and 3-year-olds, ran about 50 yards, most of them from mom to dad. The next group's distance was maybe 10 yards further, but the kindergarten and first graders ran 400 meters. It was all low-stakes and fun, with t-shirts and medals for every runner. 

Best of all, it was over in less than 30 minutes, which was about right for the attention span of the assembled group of athletes and their supporters.

Healthy Attitude

The dog park was deserted when Lucy and I got there this afternoon. It was a little over halfway in our walk, and Lucy was eager to go in anyway, so we did. She sniffed around a little, and I made sure she got some fresh water. I would have tossed a ball for her had there been one to throw, but those were absent, too, just like the other dogs. After a few minutes, I headed over to the back gate, and Lucy trotted after me, not disappointed in the least but just as happy to leave as she was to arrive.

A Curmudgeon's Life Hacks

There I go, reading the paper again. 

This time, it was an article titled "Too Scared to Watch Horror Movies? These 5 Tips May Help," which was also in the NY Times, like the Pluto piece. The gist was to push past your qualms so that you could indulge in this seasonal fun. You know, the fun where you watch people suffer and die for entertainment as if there wasn't enough real tribulation in the world.

I personally have one tip for those who feel uncomfortable with this genre. 

Don't watch them.

Infamy

I looked up when the nurse called my name. We were in the OR Recovery area, and the team was monitoring Heidi after her foot surgery.

"Yes?" I replied.

"You were my sixth-grade English teacher!"

I squinted at the young woman in scrubs, glasses, and a professional updo and tried to imagine her 11-year-old self. "What's your name?" I asked.

"Radia," she told me, walking over from the station. 

"Radia!" I said, "I can't believe it!" I pointed at the picture on her badge where her hair was short and parted on the side and her glasses were off. "That looks more like you in middle school."

She laughed. "Yeah, it does," she agreed.

"What year were you in sixth grade?" I asked.

"2001," she replied. "I was actually in your classroom on 9-11."

"Oh my gosh," I shook my head, "that's right."

"People always ask me where I was that day," she continued, "and I always say Ms. S's 2nd period English class. I'll never forget you."

Small Round Things

I was reading an article in the Times about today's solar eclipse, which will be visible in the far south of South America, the Pacific, and Antarctica, when my eye caught a headline in the related article column. Is Pluto a Planet? It asked. And what is a planet, anyway? Test your knowledge here.       

Well, I clicked over right away because I have some feelings about the topic, and I love a good newspaper quiz. I was never truly on board with Pluto's demotion to a dwarf planet back in 2005. The loss of that oft-repeated mnemonic, My Very Excellent Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas, alone convinced me it was a silly change. (Although I did laugh recently when I heard the updated version where the very excellent mother serves naan. Go ahead, say it.) 

For several years, my sixth-grade English colleagues and I used the picture book A Place for Pluto by Stef Wade as a model text for the type of children's story we taught our students to write in the fiction unit. Not only does that text have a crystal clear plot chart, but it also has a solid curriculum connection. It was in the liner notes at the end that I learned the details of Pluto's redesignation. (I also realized that none of my students were even alive in the days that Pluto was a planet, but that's another story.)

All of this is just to explain my eagerness to read the article and take the quiz. Anyhow, there were five questions, starting with Do you think Pluto should be considered a planet? (of course, I chose Yes.) and including Do you think our moon should be a planet? (For which I gleefully selected No! What part of moon do you not understand?). 

My results called me a sentimentalist, maybe because I refused to extend planethood to Eris and Ceres, but I can live with that. Because sometimes? My very earnest mind just stays up nights, pondering.

Oh C'mon

I'm pretty sure it has rained every day since I retired.

Am I right?

Fine Dining

We were sitting down to a delicious dinner of Arctic Char, tabouleh, and roasted rainbow carrots that my brother had prepared when Heidi's phone dinged. A friend had foraged an enormous puffball mushroom near her cabin in W.V. and wondered if we wanted to try it. 

Feeling fortunate to have not only one but two offers of a meal in one evening, Heidi thanked her and explained where we were. "No problem," she answered. "This thing is HUGE! I'll bring you some in the morning." 

True to her word, our friend delivered a grocery with a bowling ball-sized piece of the mushroom and a fried cutlet from the night before. I had watched a video she'd posted of her preparing the dish when we got home from dinner, and I was eager to try the steak-sized slabs of mushroom. They were delicious: mild and tender, like a soft version of white button mushrooms, and I could think of so many ways to serve them.

This afternoon, it was my turn. After a bit of research, I peeled my portion, sliced it, and used a rolling pin to compress the marshmallowy texture. Then, I roasted the sheets in the oven with a little olive oil and seasoning. Next, I layered them in lasagna with a marinara sauce, ricotta, basil, and fresh mozzarella. 

The results were delicious: earthy and tangy and light, and Heidi told her friend that we'd be happy to take some puffball anytime she has extra!