Budget Cuts

When my friend from high school, Amy, and her sister were in town late last year, my brother and I met them for dinner. At the end of a delicious meal, full of laughing and catching up, Amy was kind enough to pick up the check. "You're retired!" she teased me, "On a fixed income, you probably can't even afford meat!"

She was referring to the steak frites I had ordered. "Things aren't that dire, yet!" I told her.

"Don't worry," my brother said. "I'll buy meat for her if she can't afford it!"

Sadly, that conversation has come up several times in the last nine months as prices have steadily increased on many things, but especially meat. According to the Independent, a combination of livestock diseases, extreme weather, and, of course, tariffs has driven national beef prices up 12.4% since last year, and they are expected to rise as much as 10% more by the end of 2025.

And I thought of it again this morning at the grocery store when I picked up a nice ribeye steak. It was grassfed, about an inch thick, and weighed a little over a pound. The price? Fifty bucks, more than double what the same steak would have cost two years ago.

And while I could afford that? 

I sure did not buy it. (And don't even get me started on coffee!)

Tag Team

When Heidi and I stopped into Trader Joe's for a few things this afternoon, the line wrapped counterclockwise all around the interior perimeter of the store where the dairy case meets the produce section. Rather than abandon our plan, Heidi joined the line with our empty handbasket while I shopped, stopping back with two or three items every minute or so. 

I wondered if our strategy was cheating or if it would annoy our fellow shoppers, but when I finished our list and joined Heidi in line by the cheese case, the lady behind us expressed her admiration. "That's the way to do it!" she laughed. "I'm going to bring backup next time!"

That's Not Creepy at All

A year ago, as I was just beginning my retirement, I was curious about National Park Service jobs and regularly read descriptions of open positions with the agency. Of course, a few months later, many of the people who were hired into the jobs I had read about were summarily fired by the new administration. Even so, I still get notifications about employment opportunities for NPS from a job website I'm subscribed to. 

There are some key differences in the postings now and those of last year. First, all the jobs are paradoxically described as "Temporary, Part-time, Seasonal, Full-time." The hours of these positions are usually capped at 1040 per year, which means that career security and benefits are not part of the deal. 

The other significant difference is the following sentence included under "Additional Information": Candidates should be committed to improving the efficiency of the Federal government, passionate about the ideals of our American republic, and committed to upholding the rule of law and the United States Constitution.

Hmm.

Catching Flies with Honey

In the months after I earned my teaching degree, I worked a few different jobs to make ends meet. I was a retail salesperson at a bookstore, I did some catering, and I was also a substitute teacher. In my opinion, that last job was a necessary evil. I needed to make connections and contacts to find a full-time teaching job, but subbing is usually thankless: teachers leave minimal plans; kids act up; and no one has time to offer any support. 

In the thirty-one years I worked as a teacher, I saw things from another side; I did my best to leave clear plans that would keep students busy and engaged, but I knew that some kids would be rude and disrespectful anyway, and I understood why everyone was too busy to be of much help. And when I retired, there was one thing I was certain of-- I would never substitute teach.

But last spring when a friend and former colleague needed to take several weeks for surgery, I agreed to help out. The gig was ideal-- I knew the school, the team, the curriculum, and sixth graders were my specialty. It went very well, and I accepted a few other jobs at the end of the year.

I still did not think I would ever sub again unless it was nearly under such perfect conditions, but last week I noticed that another friend and former colleague needed coverage for her sixth-grade English class. Again, I knew the school and had helped write the curriculum. I'd even taught the lesson, and since it was only the second week of school, I figured the kids would still be too disoriented to misbehave. And I was right! Even though it was a one-time job, everything was easy and fun. 

Furthermore, I didn't anticipate that there was a new sub-coordinator at the school. The person formerly in the position had always been perfectly nice to me. Still, she had a reputation for being unfriendly and demanding, especially when it came to assigning subs to work extra classes during the teacher's planning time. 

This new coordinator greeted me effusively and told me how much she loved my nephew who worked at her former school. Then she showered appreciation on me and seemed to go out of her way to make the job as easy as possible. So, when she called the room at lunch and asked if I could come back the next day, I couldn't say no. 

Today I subbed for another friend and former colleague in a sixth-grade history class, and it was another good day. I'm also booked for several more jobs at the school in the coming weeks. I'm not fully converted, but I'm not a hard no anymore, either. (Plus, I've already paid for my bowling shoes and bowling ball!)

That coordinator knows what she's doing-- in the past, our school has had so much trouble finding coverage that they have paid teachers to work during their planning time. But as of today? There are 90 sub jobs posted countywide, but not a single one is there.

The Big League Part 3

I was a Road Runner, and my teammates were Maria and Renee. We were bowling against the Pin Pushers, but they were down a player, so it was just the five of us on two lanes. Today's match of three games would also be used to establish our handicaps, a concept I had heard of but had no understanding of the logistics behind. In our league, your handicap is determined by subtracting your scratch (or raw score) from 180 and then multiplying the result by 90%. Using handicaps levels the field for team competition, allowing bowlers of all skill and experience to participate without penalizing their teams.

My first frame was passable; I got a nine. I stepped up for my next turn and rolled the ball right into the pocket for a strike. Before I could celebrate, though, my teammates broke the news that in league play, you alternate lanes so my strike didn't count. "You can just do it again on the other side," they encouraged me, but that did not happen. Although I had a few good frames out of the next 28 I bowled, with my fresh new handicap of 75, I have lots of room for improvement.

One of my teammates, a former PE teacher, offered some helpful coaching. She and her husband, a former professional football player, bowled all summer and took some clinics and lessons, and she shared some of the tips they found helpful. Our team captain is somewhat reserved, but she was welcoming and supportive. The age span of the league is 39 to 80, and I was told that some of the women just walk up to the line and drop their balls for strikes. I can attest to that story-- I saw it happen several times just a few lanes away.

As I approached the desk to return my borrowed shoes, the manager of the bowling center crooked her finger at me. "I know this was your first week, but you need to get your own shoes after this." 

I nodded.

"You're going to need a ball, too," she added, giving me the name and address of the local pro shop.

I thanked her and headed back to my group to say my good-byes. "We'll have the league fees published by next week," Mimi told me. "Bring your checkbook! We don't take Venmo," she laughed.

This is going to be a pricey little hobby, I thought to myself. Thank goodness it was fun!

The Big League Part 2

I confess that I was nervous when I pulled into the parking lot at the bowling alley. Our former principal, Sharon, had been very specific about arrival time. "See you between 9:20 and 9:29," her welcome email to the league had read. The preseason meeting would start at 9:30 sharp, and bowling would commence at 10.

I had read the detailed message carefully and reviewed the bylaws again right before heading down there. Now, at 9:10, I sat in my car and watched the arrival of other bowlers. They all seemed to be seniors with rolling equipment bags, which made sense considering the weight of bowling balls. I didn't recognize anyone, but there were other leagues there, and I didn't know everyone in our league, either. I took a deep breath and headed in.

The bowling center was packed, but in the far left-hand corner, I saw that the chrome and red pleather chairs had been pulled from their formica-topped tables and arranged into makeshift rows. Several women were milling about, and as I approached, Sharon waved to me from the front. I found a seat and introduced myself to the lady sitting next to me, who, it turned out, was also new. The next few minutes passed in a blur of shoe rental and bowling ball hunting. I noticed my initials on the monitor at the end of a lane and put an 8- and a 10-pound ball on the return.

Back at the meeting place, I looked around to see who I knew and waved to a couple of folks. The staff at the center was making loud announcements about lanes, rules, and outside food and drink as our meeting was called to order with a prayer. Lord bless all your children who traveled here today. Give them and their families good health. Let us have fun and fellowship today: make our balls roll straight and our pins fall down. Amen!

"Amen!" we replied, and the season had begun.

In the Big League

At my former school, there is a legend among women of a certain age, specifically those nearing retirement, of a local bowling group where many of our already retired colleagues gather every week. Over the years, we've heard rumors that our former principal, assistant principal, director of guidance, and several teachers and other staff members participate in this mythic activity. It is such a familiar tale that whenever anyone retires, they can be sure they'll receive the tongue-in-cheek suggestion that they "can always bowl with Sharon."

The specific details of this weekly bowling outing are vague, however. For example, I heard it was on Thursdays in Falls Church, which isn't really very actionable intelligence. But this summer, when a former colleague passed away, I found myself on the phone with Mimi, our retired assistant principal. It had been a while since we had spoken. 

"So how do you like retirement?" she asked.

"I'm still getting used to it," I replied non-commitally.

"You do have to find things to do," she agreed sympathetically.

"Like bowling?" I joked.

"Well, yes," she answered, seriously. "Would you be interested in that?"

"Sure," I laughed. "It's legendary!"

"I'll talk to Sharon," she said. "It would be fun to have you!"

A few days later, I received a message from Sharon explaining that they had no openings this year, but substitute slots were available. If I was interested, she asked that I let her know. As I was mulling the offer, the phone rang. "I spoke too soon," Sharon told me. "We do have an opening!"

I was definitely interested, but I needed to know the details before making a commitment. I was stunned as Sharon explained that they were a formal league sanctioned by the United States Bowling Congress. Their league, The Ladies Executive Bowling League, consists of thirty women who bowl every Tuesday (not in Falls Church) for 32 weeks of the year. They have dues, officers (with stipends), and cash prizes at the end of the season.

"I had no idea it was so formal!" I told her, thinking of the picture in my mind of a half-dozen or so old friends lounging on the plastic chairs at the end of a couple of lanes at the bowling center, drinking coffee and rolling a few games. "You guys are the real deal!"

"Are you still interested?" she asked.

"You bet!" I told her.

"Then you're in!"