You're On!

I do love me a challenge, and so I was all in when the NY Times ran a five-day activity designed to help participants learn a poem. How could I resist a description that stated,  A poem can lift the spirits and nourish the soul. This week, let’s all learn one together! Heck, I even sent the link to my former 6th Grade English colleagues! And I definitely gained an immense appreciation of Edna St. Vincent Millay and her poem "Recuerdo." 

Just the opening line, We were very tired, we were very merry--, perfectly describes the punch-drunkenness of many late nights spent with friends, and the five activities the Times offered, along with the amazing gallery of contemporary authors reading the poem, made the challenge a joy.

So when I saw that they were offering a creativity challenge last week, I was all in. And although it was no "Recuerdo," I completed the doodles and the other activities with fidelity right up until Friday morning when the directions were to "try one new thing." They offered a list of options to commit to with a click, and of the 23, I felt like over half would not be new. Even so, there was one thing that caught my interest-- the 30-second dance party.

It did involve buying a doodad, but the description also seemed kind of fun: It’s an annoying toy, but on days when you can’t fit in a workout, it’s guaranteed to get your body moving. 

So, I ordered one, and it was waiting for us when we got home from the beach this afternoon. After dog-sitting for the weekend, Treat was still here when I tore into the package and inserted the batteries. He was very obliging when the strange accent ordering us to dance for 30 seconds emerged from the button's speaker, and the three of us had ourselves a hat-trick of micro dance parties before brainstorming ways we could use the concept to bring a little fun and movement to a middle school classroom.

Willa and Liv

One of the additional benefits of winning tickets to the show last night was the opportunity to spend a day and night with some friends of ours who had recently moved down here from Northern Virginia. Traci and Rob are nice, but their three-year-old and six-month-old daughters are delightful. I can't think of anything sweeter than spending time with little kids, unless it's rocking a baby to sleep. Fortunately, I've had a healthy dose of both today, and I feel great!
 

Beautiful Evening for a Show

The venue for the I Want My 80s concert was an outdoor pavilion right on the Portsmouth waterfront. There was a cool breeze blowing through the arena
as we took our seats in the seventh row, just stage left of the microphone. John Cafferty opened the show at 7 pm sharp, and it was nearly 10:30 when a shirtless Rick Springfield shredded the final notes of Jesse's Girl. 

And, although nature didn't provide the joyful experience of three hours of live music, it sure did enhance it.

The Grace of God

Witnessing the experience of our friend who was hit by a car last week has made me grateful for so many things. I'm thankful for the safety net of family and friends I know I have, should a twist of fate knock me down. I appreciate having the strength and income to manage my household and keep it running smoothly. And finally, I am grateful that I have the time and resources to help a friend in need.
 

Loved and Lost

I always knew I had hit on a good prompt when students asked, "Can I do more than one?"

This is a good prompt!

"Thanks," my brother said when I dropped off the squash and pepper plants I had grown from seed. "Emily will love these!"

We stood outside his house, looking over his garden beds. "The rabbits ate those," he pointed at an empty spot where once there had been beans. "That pepper has a flower," he noted, "but those aren't doing well at all."

I nodded, and he shrugged. "That's why I hate growing vegetables," he said. "They break my heart every time."

“But they’re so worth it,” I said. 

I spent a big chunk of my afternoon at my friend's, who was hit by a car, home. A cleaning crew was inside preparing the place for her eventual return, and I was in the yard with her three dogs, repairing the fence, adding hardware cloth to the gate, and listening to my audiobook. 

The closer I got to the end of The Good Lord Bird, by James Mcbride, the more breaks I needed to take from this National Book Award winning tale about John Brown told from the perspective of an unwillingly emancipated enslaved boy who was initially mistaken for a girl and, stays disguised as one for three years during his association with the "Captain."

Because once they got to Harper's Ferry? I knew the book would break my heart.

But it is so worth it. 

Oh, Hey

"So, how do you spend your days now that you're retired?" a friend of Heidi's asked me this afternoon.

"I've actually been kind of busy the last couple of months," I told her, and then recounted my subbing job. "This week has been busy, too," I said, and filled her in on trying to help our friend who was hit by the car get organized to be away from her home, pets, and job for at least 2 weeks while she's in rehab for her broken leg. 

"And we're going out of town this weekend, so I want to get our house ready for my nephew to pet sit," I added. "And my garden needs some attention, too."

"Sounds like you're keeping busy," she replied.

I nodded. Truth be told, I've been feeling a little stressed about everything that's happening now, as well as the end-of-the-school-year activities I've volunteered for, and helping Heidi wrap things up in her classroom. Additionally, we need to coordinate our summer travel plans, and I want to be as supportive as I can to my aunt as she faces her own medical challenges.

But then, I remember that I literally have all day, every day to take care of these details, and it all seems so much easier. And? I'm definitely not bored.

Manifesting

When I asked if I could bring anything this morning, a friend in the hospital requested a cold brew with Lactaid. She admitted it was a long shot, but I happened to have a jug of cold brew on hand and the Lactaid was not hard to come by. As I pulled into the hospital parking lot, though, she texted that she was NPO, meaning no food or drinks. I left the coffee in the car and headed up to see what was going on. 

She had been hit by a car on Friday night, and the CT scans had revealed a skull hematoma and a fractured tibia. "I guess they're going to do surgery on my leg?" she said, "but I haven't talked to ortho. I'm starving though, and I really want my coffee!"

"Hospitals have their own time zones," I told her, remembering the time I spent with my mom when she was an inpatient. "It would be nice if they were more like bus stops, though, wouldn't it?" I laughed. "Where you can look at your phone and track your ride while you wait."

Just then, the nurse came in for the first check-in of her shift. "Ask me anything," she offered, as if she had overheard our conversation. She swiped into the monitor by the bed and scanned the chart. She listened and answered every question we had, reading the chart and sending messages as she went. Before she left, she discovered that the NPO was an earlier order that had been mistakenly re-released. 

"Order those pancakes," she told my friend, and turning to me, said, "Go get that coffee from the car!"