Overheard in a sixth-grade English class:
Student 1: "Will you be the main character in my story?"
Student 2: "Sure! You already are the main character in my story."
Overheard in a sixth-grade English class:
Student 1: "Will you be the main character in my story?"
Student 2: "Sure! You already are the main character in my story."
Temperatures in the 30s felt downright balmy this afternoon, and I quickly unzipped my vest and shucked my mittens as Lucy and I alternately strolled down sidewalks, tromped through snow, and gingerly picked our way over ice on our walk. Despite the obstacles, the sun was shining, the sky was blue, and it felt great to be out and about after more than a week of sticking close to home.
On her first day back to school after the 10-day winter weather break, Heidi made sure to give herself plenty of time. Even though there was a 2-hour delay, she left here a little after 8 am. Before she headed out, I warmed up the Jeep and checked the parking lot. There were still some piles of snow, but no ice, and I gave her the all-clear when I got back into the house.
As she was backing out, Heidi noticed a van pull into the spot across from hers, and at the same moment, a blue sedan came around the curve and stopped to let her continue. And that's where her exit went to pieces. Mindful of the van and not wanting to keep the car waiting too long, she rushed her three-point turn and ended up with one tire spinning in the snow.
I looked out the kitchen window when I heard the honking and shouting, and threw on my boots and rushed outside to lend a hand. The lady in the sedan was yelling out her window that she was late for a chemo appointment. I nodded sympathetically, but the Jeep was stuck, and Heidi was trying to get out of the way as quickly as she could. Meanwhile, a line of cars was forming on the driveway, waiting in the single plowed lane.
"I'll grab some cardboard and sand," I told Heidi. "See what you can do with the gears."
"She had plenty of room to back out further, and she didn't!" complained the lady behind her. "She should have kept going!"
"Maybe," I acknowledged. "But she didn't, and now she can't."
"I was waving at her!" the lady continued. "She should have listened to my hand!"
Thankfully, at that moment, before any further discussion about the present versus the past with a cancer patient grew even more heated, the rear tire found some traction, and Heidi drove over the snow and away.
And so did our neighbor.
"I feel like we should have a group hug or something," one of our neighbors said as the evening painted the snow blue in our parking lot. "But maybe not with everything that's going around." Her eyes swept over the circle of women standing in a newly-cleared parking space. The five of us had just finished breaking up and moving over two tons of snow and ice by hand to clear another space in the lot.
"Maybe a group high-five?" someone else suggested, and five gloved hands were raised and joined in the twilight.
"Shouldn't there be lightning bolts or something shooting into the sky?" I laughed. "That was a lot of snow!"
There was a time in my life when my to-do list at work might easily have included three hundred or so phyllo triangles, but that was decades ago. Even so, I found out today that that's a skill I may never forget.
A neighbor of ours, suffering from a bit of cabin fever after being iced in all week, invited several friends over for a happy hour this afternoon. She offered to provide the drinks if we brought snacks. I had an unopened package of phyllo dough in the fridge, left over from Christmas, along with feta cheese and some greens from our CSA share that I had blanched and chopped.
It was not a stretch to mix together a little filling, melt some butter, and start folding away. Our kitchen has a few exterior walls, and it's been cold in there all week, but today I appreciated the pastry-pantry temperatures that kept the butter, filling, and dough in perfect condition, allowing me to knock out three dozen little triangles in under 15 minutes. I think the neighbors will be impressed, even though they needn't be.
But we'll let that be our secret.
Heidi's mom is turning 80 in March, and like with most things, she's got some thoughts about how she'd like to celebrate. In fairness, we did ask and offered to organize the party and treat her and her guests. Her birthday conveniently falls on the Friday that Heidi's spring break starts, and we've booked dinner for 18 the following evening at a longtime local favorite steakhouse.
I spent part of this afternoon making the invitation on the web-based design site I favor. I really like the way it turned out, considering I started from scratch: just a blank page, no template. We started gathering the items for the gag swag bags, too. Louise wants Bingo cards, reading glasses, pill organizers, and salt substitute for everyone. She also chose the earliest time available at the restaurant, so we can say we got the early bird special.
One of my bowling friends gave me a spontaneous hug this morning. "I'm so glad you retired and decided to join us!" she said.
"Me too!" I answered. "It's the best thing about retirement so far!"
Another of our bowling buddies raised her eyebrow skeptically.
"I said, so far," I laughed. "Give me some time; it's only my second year!"