"Are you a new one?" a first-grader asked me, jerking his thumb toward the teacher and assistant as I borrowed a tiny chair from the desk beside him and sat down.
"No," I told him in a confidential tone. "I'm a visitor!" I pointed to the sticker on my coat.
His eyes brightened, and he did a little happy dance, as if this turn of events had made his day.
"I guess you don't get many of those!" I laughed.
A while ago, Chrome introduced a screen-splitting button to its browser toolbar. Admittedly, once I moused over it to find out what the heck it was, I ignored the little icon that looked kind of like an open book to the right of the home button. Why would I ever want to split my already tiny laptop screen? I thought.
But tonight, one of its uses became clear to me when I needed to compose my daily blog entry while the Golden Globes were being broadcast. Heidi had gone to bed early with a headache, and turning on the TV and tuning it to the award show in progress seemed like an unnecessary disturbance. I'll just check the award winners so far, I said to myself as I booted up the computer, but quickly changed my mind and streamed it in a classic FOMO moment. But what about the blog?? my conscience countered as glamorous images from the Beverly Hilton sparkled before my eyes.
Never fear! Split screen is here! And that, dear reader, is how I'm both writing this and watching that. Is it distracting? You bet. Might the quality of my viewing be compromised by the obvious effort I'm putting into writing? Alas, perhaps. But I can only hope the Golden Globes will forgive me for multitasking.
"We're late!" Heidi called down the stairs in a panic. We had both forgotten about Lucy's grooming appointment this morning, and she had missed the reminder texts asking where we were. She had replied to ask if an hour late was too late, but hadn't heard back. "I just want to take her and see!" she said, so the three of us rushed to the car in the pouring rain.
Right as we rounded the corner with less than half a mile to go Heidi received a text. "It's 11, and I haven't heard from you. I'm going home."
"But she didn't text me back," Heidi said in confusion.
"Call her," I shrugged.
"I'm so sorry!" Heidi apologized when the phone was answered. "I tried to text you."
"Where are you?" said the voice on the other end of the call. "I'm still at the farmer's market."
I turned into the groomer's parking lot as we tried to make sense of the information. "Uhhhh," Heidi stalled, looking at me wide-eyed. "I'm right outside."
What followed was a comedy of errors, based on missed and miscommunication. The woman on the phone was the instructor for Heidi's beekeeping class, trying to deliver the required books before the course begins on Thursday. She had been mistakenly texting someone else and agreed to wait until we could get up to the market. Meanwhile, we received a text from the groomer waiving the cancellation fee but informing us that she had no more openings for the day.
"What should we do?" Heidi asked.
"We're here," I said. "And it's our fault we missed the appointment. Go pay the cancellation fee and book the next available."
Lucy let out a little whine when Heidi exited the car.
"You're off the hook today," I told her, but a minute later Heidi was back.
"They can fit her in," she reported with visible relief. "When I walked in, she took one look at me and said, 'Oh girl! I got you!'" Heidi paused. "Do I look that rough?"
"It has been a rough 30 minutes," I agreed. "But somehow? It's all working out."
Lucy may have seen it otherwise.
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.
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!"
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.
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.
