Cold Hard City

There were blue and red lights flashing up ahead and to my right as I approached the intersection of H Street and New York Avenue. The light turned red, and my attention was understandably drawn to the scene on the sidewalk. Three emergency responders stood near the steps of the church on the corner, looking at a man sitting motionless, his back to the foot of the balustrade. I watched to see how the man would react to the attention and lights, but he didn't move at all. When the traffic ahead of me inched forward, I could see that his eyes were open, but he was beyond any help the EMTs could offer. He was dead. The light changed then, and I continued on my way.

Just Here for the Chalk Dust

I was observing in a first-grade classroom this morning when the teacher approached a student sitting at her desk, staring into space. "You need to get started on your work," she said sweetly to the girl. "Read the word and then put checkmarks in the boxes that fit," she continued, repeating the directions in case there was some confusion.

The little girl turned to her teacher in disbelief. "I can't read!" she scoffed.

I had to stifle a laugh as I saw the teacher's eyebrows shoot up. She quickly regained her first-grade educator's composure. "That's what we're learning," she explained. "And that's why you have to do your work!"

Sing Again Please?

I noted with interest that one of Barack Obama's favorite new singers in 2025 was one of mine, too. Like the former president, I love Olivia Dean's warm, soulful voice, especially when you can hear her British accent peeking through. 

And although I preferred her single Nice to Each Other even more than her big hit Man I Need, you can still hear me singing loudly along when either comes on the radio. That's how Heidi caught me in a classic lyric blunder the other day. 

We were running errands, and I was belting out the chorus to Man I Need with gusto. 

Tell me you've got something to give, I want it! I sang.

I kind of like it when you call me on the phone, I continued, ignoring Heidi's quizzical look.

Whatever the type of talk it is, come on then
I gotta know you're meant to be the man I need
Talk to me!
Talk to me!

When I parked and turned the car off, the radio stopped, but I didn't. I repeated the chorus a capella as we strolled toward the store.

"I'm pretty sure she says 'wonderful' there," Heidi interrupted me when I got to the phone part.

I was stunned. "I kind of like it when you call me wonderful?" I asked skeptically. "No way! It's all about talking, of course, she says 'on the phone'!"

Heidi raised her eyebrows and shook her head with pity. "Just sayin'."

Oh! But it was that accent I love so much that fooled me! She draws out the first syllable, waaaaaan, and it sort of does sound like on, and then she clips derful. 

So, I forgive myself for hearing 'the phone'. Plus? In the long tradition of misheard songs everywhere, I think mine might be a slightly better lyric anyway.

On the Twelfth Day of Bowling

Like many new hobbies or pursuits might, my weekly bowling league inspired several stocking stuffer gifts, especially from Heidi. In fact, because of backorders and such, I was receiving new bowling-themed items almost every day for the week after Christmas. Among other things, I got an ornament, a rosin bag, a ball sling, and a t-shirt. 

This morning was the first competition of the new year, and I used them all, as well as my favorite little item, a tiny crocheted bowling pin holding a positive affirmation. "You will bowl them over!" it promises.  

Before the holiday, I was in a bit of a bowling slump, but today, on the Epiphany, that little totem kept its word. I put up scores of 122, 135, and 154, a personal best day for me.

Sh!t

The last time I had my car serviced, the oil light had come on well before the recommended time between changes had elapsed. The technicians checked things out, but my adviser suggested I return in 1200 miles for a second look. After driving to the beach for Thanksgiving and Buffalo for Christmas, it was time to take the car back today. The dealership was deserted when I pulled into the bay at 8 a.m., but the crew was as friendly and helpful as ever. 

While they were checking me in, I mentioned that the eyesight feature that assists with cruise control and collision avoidance has been cutting on and off a bit more than usual. "I know it can be affected by glare or ice or road salt," I shrugged, "but it seems like something is off." 

The advisor looked through the driver's side door at my windshield. "Could it be your EZ Pass?" she asked. 

"That's been there for years," I answered. "Probably not." 

She went around to the front of the car. "There's a huge blob of what looks like bird poop," she pointed. "Right in front of the camera." 

I frowned. "It's been through the car wash a lot," I told her. But then I laughed. "Because the crows have been pooping on it regularly! They probably hit that spot all the time."

"That could definitely interfere with the camera function," she nodded. "I'll check with tech, and we'll make sure you get your free carwash!"

Who Knows?

The crows were raising a ruckus in the dark when I took Lucy out for the last time around 11 last night. "What woke them up?" I asked her, but her attention was riveted on a rabbit racing down the drive. "And what's got into him?" I continued. Then there came a raucous rustling from within the nearby woods as something big crashed through the undergrowth. 

We didn't stick around to ask any questions, but instead? Headed right back inside.

Left, Right, No Center

My heart sank this morning when I read the banner headline on my New York Times app that the U.S. had invaded Venezuela to capture Nicolas Maduro and his wife. As I scrolled through the coverage, I paused to read the editorial, "Trump’s Attack on Venezuela Is Illegal and Unwise," which, as the title states, is an unvarnished criticism of the action. 

While I agreed with most of what I read, I wondered what the counterargument might be, and considered looking at a right-leaning publication to explore the other side of the issue. I didn't have to look far, though. Clicking over to The Washington Post's coverage of the event, I was immediately confronted with that editorial board's piece, "Justice in Venezuela."

I was shocked to read a piece so supportive of the military action in a publication once known for its liberal journalism. As I scanned through the reader comments below it, I saw that I wasn't alone. Although the editorial had only been published minutes before, there were already over one hundred responses, every single one of them deploring the view expressed by the board, and many of them informing the paper that they were canceling their subscription.

Oh, what a year it's been.