Low Country Thanksgiving Eve

As the sun set this evening, I drove to the southernmost end of the peninsula where we are staying. Holiday lights sparkled from many of the homes on the narrow spit, and plenty were occupied, despite the fact that this is a beach town in the off-season. The smell of wood smoke was on the breeze, and I stopped to let a couple of women cross the street carrying huge kettles. In house after house, I spotted folks setting up folding tables or picnic tables in the breezeway created by the pylons lifting the structure above the floodplain. Still other people stood on the decks of their houses watching the sun sink, turning the pale orange and the clouds pink. I rounded the point and headed back north into the gathering darkness and the lights and warmth of our own holiday home.

Ahhh

Wake up.
Drink freshly brewed coffee.
Go to the beach.
Eat a hearty breakfast.
Take a bike ride across the causeway and back along the beach.
Go to the state park to see alligators, egrets, and storks, oh my!
Run a couple of quick errands.
Play mini golf (Do badly! Deal with it!)
Cook dinner with your brother and sister.
Know that tomorrow will be just as good or better.

Zonked Out

After a fun day of vacation, I slept soundly last night. In fact, I only woke up once in the middle of the night-- I needed to pee and put my laptop away, which was still on my lap, powered on, and open to the Sunday crossword puzzle. Were my fingers still on the keyboard, too? Hard to say; I'm just grateful the lights were out, and the machine didn't fall to the floor like my books sometimes do!

Be Healed

Usually, I am an inveterate beachcomber: sometimes, there's nothing more satisfying than walking the shore and scanning the middens pushed up by the tide, looking for a hidden treasure. But, such focus can also be a distraction from the splendor around me, or worse. Many's the time I've left the beach with a stiff neck and a headache and not much else.

This morning felt a little different to me. It's the first day of our week-long vacation at the beach, and I just wanted to walk. With the early morning sunshine reflecting off the ocean, Heidi, Lucy, and I set an easy pace, walking and talking to cover the mile-and-a-half to the pier. We were on our way back when somehow the conversation turned to our aching joints and the stiff gaits we sometimes have to push through. 

"When I've been sitting in the chair too long, it's like," I mimicked an exaggerated toddle.

"How is it again?" Heidi laughed.

I paused and stooped over, resting my hand on my hip, ready to limp forward, but there on the sand at my feet was a big, perfect shark's tooth. I scooped it up, whooped with joy, and did a little happy dance. 

All my aches and pains were gone.

The Week that Is

Should there be a Saturday road trip on the agenda, I always look forward to listening to the AT40 70s edition broadcast. The nostalgia of hearing songs from my childhood seems to fuel the journey, making even the longest trip shorter. 

I was disappointed today, though, when the show was a rebroadcast from this week in 1970. Generally, the earlier in the decade the countdown, the less satisfying I find it. In 1970, I was eight, and although I recognized Black Magic Woman by Sanatana (#40), the next few numbers were disappointing, and so I turned my radio down and drove in silence. 

But soon, my mind turned to what I might have been doing Thanksgiving week in 1970 when I was 8. Back then, our family always took a road trip from our home in South Jersey to see family in DC. I imagined the five of us packed into our blue 1964 Ford Falcon heading south. I remembered that one year, we left so early that we actually stopped for breakfast at a roadside diner, which was not our usual routine. I could picture myself sitting with my brother and sister on one side of a booth, waiting for our pancakes, looking out the window at the cars whiz by in the bright November morning sun, and feeling the excitement of the holiday bubbling through my brain.

Back in the present, I navigated the flow of traffic under the pale blue November sky and felt the excitement of the holiday bubble through my brain.

Putting it in R

I spent a chunk of today making returns: I dropped off some components of Heidi's Halloween costume that didn't quite work at UPS, returned a power staple gun that wasn't right for the job at Home Depot, a glue gun at Michaels, a sweater at Costco, and another Halloween thing at TJMaxx. 

Before, when I worked full-time, running such errands could be time-consuming and stressful, but today's activity offered all the satisfaction of accomplishing a list of chores AND more! Instead of spending money and bringing bags of stuff home, I cleared out bags of stuff from the house and got some money back. 

The Bird in My Hand

I had Lucy today when I stopped by Treat's school to pick something up. "We're going to take a walk around the neighborhood," I said, "any interest?"

He was game, so the three of us set out from the upper parking lot onto a paved trail winding through the woods. "I had no idea this was here!" I said.

"Neither did I," Treat said. "We got a strongly worded email last week reminding us that we must never take the students out of the building during instructional time," he added, shrugging. "So I haven't spent much time out here."

The trail meandered above the school and then turned up the hill toward the elementary school. Soon, we found ourselves in their parking lot. "It's been years since I've been over here," I told Treat, "but my very first classroom was here."

I recounted the tale of how, after getting my teaching degree and license and subbing for six months, I still had no offers by June. "I wasn't even in the candidate pool," I sighed. Then, a woman who worked at the ed center and had become an unofficial mentor to me offered me a summer school position teaching kindergarteners at that school. "I jumped at the chance!" I laughed, recalling how I told my little class of 12 that they were not in kindergarten anymore-- this was the first day of first grade! Back in those days, there was no curriculum, so I used all the strategies and activities I had learned during my student teaching in first grade to plan my program. The kids wrote every day, I read to them, and we sang and danced and walked out in the field (which was currently occupied by four trailers) looking for inspiration. 

It was great, and the five weeks flew by. Lots of teachers stopped by to ask me where I taught during the year, but every time they did, my face fell. "Nowhere," I answered. On the last day of summer school, I still didn't have a job, and no one from HR had even come to see me teach. I cried as I loaded my boxes in the car and drove home.

A few days later, the same lady intervened again. "Write me a thank-you note," she suggested. "Not because I want one, but I'll forward it to HR and tell them what a great job you did."

The next day the phone rang and the director of personnel herself was on the line. "I read your gracious note," she drawled, "and if there's one thing we want in our teachers? It's good manners." 

That is how I got into the candidate pool. Once I was eligible to be hired, I had a job teaching sixth-grade English the next day. 

And you can bet I kept it.