Brunch and a Show

It had been too long since we'd spent time with my brother and sister-in-law, so I texted early this week to try to set something up. Our go-to is usually a movie and dinner, but there isn't a lot out that the four of us can agree on. I proposed Kimberly Akimbo, just in case Bill might consider a Broadway musical, as an alternative. He countered with Twelfth Night at the Folger, and a plan was hatched. He got tickets to the matinee today, and I made brunch reservations at a place near Eastern Market. Then I Spot-heroed some parking and arranged to pick them up at 11:30.

What a delightful day! So urbane, so sophisticated, and so grown up. I guess it shouldn't be surprising now that we're in our 60s, but it still kind of was.

Unexpected Activity

 I had just taken my shoes off and plopped myself down on my aunt's couch when a harsh blare interrupted our conversation. "Was that today?" she asked her husband.

"Apparently," he replied.

"Do we have to go outside?" I asked and they both nodded.

It took me a minute to get my sneakers back on, and then I stepped back to wait for my uncle to finish tying his. Their unit is on the first floor of the "lodge," so we simply strolled across the lobby and out the front door to the porch. 

A half dozen other seniors were already gathered there, along with two staff members. A clipboard was passed around for attendance as other residents, some with canes, walkers, and one in a wheelchair, made their way to join us on the porch. 

"Are you a new resident?" a woman asked me.

"This is my niece," my aunt answered for me. "She's just visiting."

"You picked a crazy day to come!" the woman commented.

"I was a teacher for many years," I told her, "so I'm no stranger to evacuation drills."

She nodded approvingly.

One of the staff members checked his watch. "Everybody's out!" he said. "In under five minutes."

"Is that good?" asked someone, and I wondered, too, especially considering we could regularly clear an entire school of 1000 people in about 3 minutes.

"It's very good!" he confirmed. "Everybody would survive. We're going to meet in five minutes in the second-floor lounge," he added. "You can use the elevator now."

When we arrived, they handed out packets containing emergency information and reminders. "You don't have to read it all now," said the other staff member. "It's a lot of information, and we only have one hour."

Unseasonable

Even after vigorously toweling her off,  Lucy was so wet after our rainy walk yesterday that she was shivering. It was a little chilly in the house, so I decided to make a fire. The rain pattered against the windows as the fire crackled, warming the room and transforming the gray light of the day to gold. It felt as if I was in some far-off place where it's not unusual to have a fire in the summer, so I made a cup of tea and settled by the hearth to read for a while.

Gear Up and Get Out

 It literally rained all day here: there was never a moment when it was not raining. That said, a dog's gotta walk and so does this restless sexagenarian, so I donned my foul-weather gear, clipped on Lucy's leash, and headed out into the, well, foul weather. 

It was a soft rain, a steady mist, really, which did eventually drench us, but never unpleasantly so, and as we wandered over three miles, we had the wet gray streets, and later the muddy dog park, and finally the sparkling green trails all to ourselves. It was a remarkably pleasant walk.

I guess Alfred Wainwright was indeed right. There is no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing.

Late to the Party

"Hey! I got invited to a retirement dinner by the school system," my friend Mary told me a week or so ago. "Did you get invited to one last year?"

"No," I shrugged. "Maybe because I decided so late in the year?"

"Maybe," she agreed. "I'm going!"

"Really!" I said. "I don't think I would have predicted that. I'll be anxious to hear how it was."

"I'll tell you all about it," she promised.

I had forgotten our conversation this afternoon when I opened a small, yellow mailing envelope with the return address, Careers at APS. I assumed it was something about my substitute teaching, but instead I found a postcard inside featuring a collage of images of Arlington's shopping districts. 

Bemused, I flipped it over to find an invitation to the retirement dinner, accompanied by a QR code for RSVP. But before I could even consider attending the event, I read the fine print informing me that RSVPs closed the morning of May 19, so my decision was made. 

To be honest? I'm not sad at all. I'm still looking forward to hearing about it, though!

Mission Possible

We had just returned home from Mission: Impossible when I noticed the oven light was out. Unconcerned about such an easy fix, I fetched the spare bulb and opened the oven. After carefully removing the heatproof glass covering, I twisted the old bulb only to feel it pull away from its base. I cussed and reassessed the situation. 

Because the light is always on, I needed to cut the appliance's power before attempting to remove the broken piece. I moved the stock pots from the rack and lifted the magnetic message board covering the breaker box. Then, I flipped the range switch and pulled out a pair of electrician's pliers. 

The light is on the left side of the oven, and I had to get on my knees and turn my head to reach it with the pliers in my left hand. After failing to get a grip on the rim of the base, I concluded that it was impossible to do the job by feeling alone. 

I sat back on my heels and thought, what would Ethan Hunt and his team do? Inspired, I grabbed my new pair of grippy garden gloves and reached in with a single finger to twist the broken piece from the inside. After a moment of gentle counterclockwise pressure, I felt it turn, and a minute later, it was in the trash. I swiftly installed the new bulb, replaced the cover, and restored power to the stove. 

After resetting the clock and putting away my gear, it was like I was never there. Burnt-out bulb? What burnt-out bulb?

Bombycilla Cedrorum

On a whim, I grabbed my binoculars as I headed out to the second-floor deck to enjoy the beautiful weather. I scanned the trees I could see from my lawn chair and gasped as I zoomed in on the top branches of a sweet gum about 100 yards away. There, preening in the star-shaped leaves and swaying branches was a cedar waxwing, its distinctive mask and tousled crest unmistakable.

I've never seen one around here, although I know this is their range. Their grayish-green color and fondness for feeding in fruit trees make them tough to spot, so I was thrilled to watch this one until it flew away.