Squeeze Play

 "We're having fish fry," I announced to Heidi, "and salad for dinner." 

I thought it might cheer her up after a tough day at work, and it seemed to. Even so, when she went upstairs, I calculated how long it might take were I to add another item to the menu. We had everything we needed for a small batch of Heidi's mom's potato salad recipe ( a favorite comfort food), but time was a consideration, too.

I put on a pot of water with an egg in it to boil and peeled the potatoes. Then I diced the celery and a little onion and placed them in a bowl. I added a splash of cider vinegar and some salt to give them a quick pickle before turning to the fridge. There, I gathered squeeze bottles of dill relish, sweet relish, sour cream, mustard, and mayonnaise. They were in the bowl and back in the refrigerator in less than a minute, a testament to their convenience.

I diced the potatoes and put them in the pot with the egg. Six minutes later, both were cooked. I drained the potatoes and put a dish towel over them to steam a bit, then I ran the egg under cold water, peeled and chopped it. The final step was tossing it all together.

Elapsed time? Fifteen minutes.

"You made potato salad?" Heidi asked happily when she came back down from her shower. "Thank you!"

"No problem!" I answered, and it was true.

What You Really, Really Want

It took me a while to get there, but in the last decade or so of my teaching career, I chose not to make a big deal out of it when a student wasn't prepared with a pencil or other writing utensil. Instead, I simply ordered enough pencils to supply anyone who was without. Oh, it was still an expectation of the class for students to bring something to write with, but if they didn't, I was prepared.

Of course, it was galling to me initially, and a part of me was a little irritated right up until the end that whoever it was couldn't bother to come prepared for school, but I knew that wasn't always the case. In sixth grade, it's not necessarily an enormous character flaw to forget or even "forget" a pencil. Sometimes, it might have been a case of laziness, for sure, but most of the time, it was a function of disorganization, inattention, lack of means, or even the desire to stick it to the teacher. 

In every one of those cases, it was better for me to give the kid a pencil and move on. I realized that my objective was not to investigate or scold someone for not having what they needed. My main purpose wasn't even to build character or responsibility, either; I was there to teach English, and if someone needed a pencil to help learn the lesson I planned, then bless their heart, they could have one, no questions asked.

I bring this up now because our community seems to be inundated by dog shit lately. I know, both because I've noticed myself and because, as a board member, Heidi has received several complaints. We have many dogs in the complex, and so we have trashcans and bags positioned throughout the neighborhood. One of these clean-up stations has been without bags for a couple weeks, and the conversation has focused on that a bit. 

"I kind of feel that, as a dog owner, those bags are nice to have, not need to have," commented one board member. "Shouldn't all dog owners be prepared when they take their dog out?"

She's not wrong, but there has been poop spotted even in the vicinity of stations that are equipped with bags. "We should send out a strongly-worded message!" suggested another.

Heidi was still mad when we talked about it later. "I wish we could get cameras and fine people who don't pick up after their dogs!" she said.

"Maybe we should just hire somebody to clean it up," I said.

"The board will never go for that." She shook her head. "And why should we? People are supposed to pick up after their dogs!"

"I agree," I replied, "but is it your objective to teach people a lesson about good dog ownership by scolding and punishing them when we can catch them, or is it to get rid of the poop?" I knew she would get it-- Heidi has a huge supply of pencils her classroom.

So far, the rest of the board doesn't quite see it that way. That strongly-worded email is going out tomorrow.

Perfect Timing

The air was soft and still, and evening shadows painted the snow purple as Lucy and I stepped out a little while ago. The door was barely closed when she pulled urgently toward the woods across the way, and I saw two deer feeding there. They saw us, too, but they never moved a single step away, even as we passed within yards of them. A full moon shone low on the horizon, hundreds of crows cawed raucously in the trees above, and I just knew it would be a good walk.

Digging Deep

"How were your snow days?" I asked a former colleague. He had scooted into the passenger seat in my warm car for a few minutes to chat as I waited for Heidi at school.

"They were great!" he answered. "After the busy holiday, just having a chance to hang with the family was awesome. We went sledding every day."

"I completely get that," I nodded.

"There was some parking drama, though," he added, shaking his head. Then he told me a familiar story of folks digging out their cars and others just driving over snow to take a spot when it became available.

"That situation really brings out the worst in some people," I agreed, thinking of our own community. 

Just the day before, we came home to find the space we had shoveled occupied by a resident from around the corner. Not wanting to leave one of our neighbors stuck, we pulled into a vacant spot and grabbed our shovels to clean out an extra place. A guy from across the way pitched in to help, and it didn't take long.

Even so, it was aggravating, and more so because we recognized the car and knew its owner. In fact, as we were leaving, our next-door neighbor was out shoveling, and she had expressed her fear that this particular woman would come to take her spot if she left it. "Oh, no," I had said to her. "That wouldn't happen!"

"Okay, Pollyanna," she answered.

And while we were out, Heidi and I had discussed going around to see if that neighbor needed any help digging out her car, because we knew that she lived alone. "I forgot to see where her car was," I told Heidi as we rolled by on our way home. 

"I don't think it was there," she said.

"It's probably in our spot, then," I laughed. But my mirth was short-lived because, sure enough, there it was when we pulled around.

"I want to go talk to her," Heidi fumed, "but I'm too mad."

"What would your objective be in confronting her?" I asked.

"I'd want her to move the car," Heidi replied.

"I guess you could tell her that you noticed her car was in the parking space we cleared, and you were wondering if she would move it since you have to go to work early tomorrow, and you're afraid it will be icy."

"That's all true," Heidi agreed. 

"You don't have to be mad," I added.  "People do stuff like that because they bank on never having to account for their actions. If you talk to her, she'd have to own it."

"I'm going to do it!" Heidi said.

And she did. 

And the woman moved her car... into somebody else's spot. But by then, enough people had done enough extra shoveling that there was room. Because, sure, this situation can bring out the worst in some, but it can also bring out the best.

Came for the Drama, Stayed for the Inspiration

Once I was sucked into President Carter's memorial service by the drama of seeing all of his successors and many of their political rivals sitting in three rows at the Cathedral, I continued watching out of respect and interest. To begin with, Andrew Young was on the pulpit, his body weakened by age, but his voice was as strong and compelling as ever. 

The eulogy written by President Ford and delivered by his son 18 years after his father's death was captivating from its opening words: By fate of a brief season, Jimmy Carter and I were rivals, but for the many wonderful years that followed, friendship bonded us as no two presidents since John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, and the story it told of honor and humanity transcending politics was heartening to hear in these times. 

Vice President Mondale also wrote a eulogy that outlived him, which was read by his son and recognized President Carter's willingness to take the long view of issues and make choices that could be politically unpopular but right for the future.

The Carter family eulogies delivered by grandsons Josh and Jason were testimony to President Carter's transparency and honesty and how his public and private personas were one. Jason Carter said, Yes, they spent four years in the governor’s mansion and four years at the White House. But the other 92 years they spent at home in Plains, Georgia. 

And one of the best ways to demonstrate that they were regular folks is to take them by that home. First of all, it looks like they might have built it themselves. Second of all, my grandfather was likely to show up at the door in some ’70s short shorts and Crocs. His words were an important reminder that President Carter, like any president, was just a man. A man of faith and service but a man all the same.

And President Biden's admonition of the importance of character and integrity was pointed and poignant. I'll end with a few of them here: At our best, we share the better parts of ourselves: joy, solidarity, love, commitment. Not for reward, but in reverence for the incredible gift of life we’ve all been granted. To make every minute of our time here on Earth count.

The Personal is Political

I did not intend to watch it.

The NY Times was live streaming Jimmy Carter’s memorial service from National Cathedral, and I happened to glance at the feed as they were seating President Trump and Melania. The two were the first attendees in their row, the second, but behind them— was that Al Gore? And next to him, was that Mike and Karen Pence?

The drama was too good to click away from, and I was riveted by Trump’s uncomfortable demeanor as he turned to shake hands with them in what was his first face to face meeting with Pence in four years.. He was still squirming a little when they seated the next guest, Barack Obama, right next to him. President Obama graciously shook everyone’s hand, including Trump’s, as he found his seat. 

Before I could even consider looking at something else, George and Laura Bush were shown to their seats, next to Obama. Bush seemed a bit befuddled, but he shook Gore’s hand and then Pence’s, but he totally missed Karen Pence reaching out to him and turned his back on her to sit down next to Laura, who was next to Obama.

There were two seats left in the row, and I knew who was coming next. The Clintons approached within seconds, and everybody, except George Bush, rose to greet them. Hillary entered the row first with a face of stone, followed by her affable husband and his aw shucks grin. And it was then that President Bush chose to engage: he tried to say something to her, but she flat out ignored him, so much so, that he shrugged and looked away.

The whole group sat in awkward silence, except for Donald Trump. He was talking Barack Obama’s ear off. President Obama nodded and politely and answered briefly from time to time, but he really kind of looked like the guy who gets stuck next to the inappropriately chatty kid— I think he might have shushed him if he could have.

But then? It got even more uncomfortable. Vice President Harris and her husband were shown to their seats, and when she saw that she would be sitting directly in front of Donald Trump, she made Doug change places with her. She did not speak to anyone, nor did she shake any hands. The tension was broken slightly when President and Mrs. Biden sat down, but there was a lot of program reading until the casket was escorted down the aisle and the actual service began.

More about that tomorrow.

A Walk and a Reminder

It was cold, frigid, really, when I bundled up in tights under sweats, a turtleneck under a hoodie, wool socks, and tall boots this afternoon to walk Lucy. The sky was heavy with gray clouds, and a chill wind blew, but I needed the fresh air, so we climbed the steps out of the complex and started a three-mile loop we often walk. 

Our route took us through the neighborhood and across a bridge over the interstate. Traffic on its way to and from Washington, D.C. whizzed by beneath us. The sun peeked out a little then, and I was surprised at its warmth. I could feel it on my face, and through my down vest, it literally warmed my heart a bit.

Even in the coldest cold, a little sunshine made a difference. I put on my sunglasses and kept walking, determined to remember the lesson in the days coming.