Costco Sundays

Costco Sundays at Pentagon City used to be a viable venue for a lone shopper, especially if you went first thing in the morning or during a Commanders, née Redskins, game later in the afternoon. But nowadays I recommend a strategic, team approach.

At 2:43pm, Thomas and I grabbed a rare parking spot on the street instead of joining the backed up ticket line. After a short trot up the sidewalk, we each grabbed one of the last two flatbeds and swiped our respective member cards at the entry way. 

By 2:47pm we were bee-lining straight to the garden area, about half of the way back in the middle section of the store, equidistant between the two main extra wide aisles. 

By 2:58pm both flatbeds were loaded with ten 40 pound bags of the organic soil/compost mixture, the maximum purchase number allowed per person. At that point I texted our pick-up truck getaway driver, Paul, that it was time to approach the area for a rendezvous.

In line, Thomas and I were each offered a pre-check, which meant an expedited trip through the checkout line. We gratefully accepted and reached our respective checkout clerks at approximately 3:02pm. 

At 3:06pm I checked my texts to find this message from Paul: “I am not gonna attempt that line-up into the lot. Meet me in the loading dock area around to the right of the store, just beyond the handicapped parking. You’ll need to roll your carts down there, through the exit gate.” It sounded like a brilliant plan, and meant we didn’t need to worry about validation for Paul’s now-nonexistent parking pass. 

By 3:17pm we had converged in the loading dock area, filled the bed of the truck with our 20 bag haul, and both pick-up truck and Thomas’s car were headed over to the TJMS Community garden to unload over the fence.

In less  than 50 minutes, our collective chore was complete, start to finish. Costco Sunday did not defeat us this time! 

Digging Deeper

This winter I returned to my favorite type of exercise for the first time post-pandemic: deep water aerobics. 

First I signed up for a Saturday morning class, which was the only one I saw listed in the Arlington Recreation catalog. From other class participants I learned about the Monday and Wednesday classes, so I signed up for the Wednesday class on site. I’m sorely tempted to sign up for all three classes next go round.

I feel my leg strength returning when I climb the long stairs at school, and my mid regions are starting to feel more flexible, firm, and balanced. Each class is a solid hour of constant movement with resistance. Each class is a commitment to self-care. 

With this renewed commitment to exercise comes renewed resolve to schedule my other activities around my classes, even if it means less time out digging in the school garden this Spring, or not posting here every single day.

Nature Lovers

Today I had the opportunity to hang out midday with my family, after returning home from my husband’s post -op appointment. 

Our seven month old “twins”, Sabrina and Roan, were both planted at the back window watching a squirrel rebuild its nest in the Willow Oak. Every five minutes the busy builder would scamper down the tree trunk to grab another mouthful of leaves while intensely focused feline faces followed every clasp of the claws and every twitch of the tail. 

A short while earlier, according to my daughter, Roan had followed the flight of two female cardinals alongside the big picture window, only inches from the glass barrier, still too young to make the gutteral chitter of the huntress she is becoming. 

My son’s clinking of glasses and plunking of silverware as he unloaded his share of the dishwasher signaled the end of this afternoon’s outdoor nature lesson. Sleepy eyes sporting heavy eyelids suggest that nap time is near. 

 

The Weekly Goodbye

I watch as he puts them into the car, so carefully, lovingly.

The weekly goodbye.

Then he watches as the car pulls away.

With his face buckled in pain, he follows the little heads until they are out of sight.

His beloved young children. Who love him dearly. Who did not want to say goodbye. 

But such are the arrangements of grown ups.

Observed one evening a decade or more ago, under the portico of a local apartment building, while dropping off my daughter for her weekly voice lessons. 

Winter Still-here-ness

The snow that is now falling would be grand…

If I hadn’t just spent my weekend puttering and pruning in the garden beds,

If we didn’t have 200 more ACCESS Speaking tests to administer this week,

If this were late November, or January,

But I did, we do, and it isn’t.

The grayish-white vista now forming outside would be cozy and comforting…

If I hadn’t just taken my red and cobalt blue planting pots out of storage yesterday,

If we didn’t have a new unit to begin in ELA 8 this week,

If this were December, or even February,

But I did, we do, and it isn’t.

The wildlife of the back yard would be skittering about…

If I hadn’t seen the teeth and chin bone of a deceased rabbit, or squirrel, beside the driveway yesterday,

If we didn’t have a huge nocturnal opossum hiding out in our crawl space killing all the mice,

If this were a month from now, or even two,

But I did, we do, and it isn’t.

I guess I’ll just go take a nap.

My Rag-Tag Gal

Some years back, when my first gardening neighbor retired and moved to Winchester, another micro-climate away, she gifted me her much-loved gardenia and we enlisted our shared handyman to help with the transplant. At that point in time, the gardenia was several years old and she still barely fit into the two-piece green floral plant cover that was conveyed to me in the transfer. But every year, as she has grown, I have had to cobble together all manner of burlap, old grill cover, and retired shower curtain liners, minus their sheered off mildewed bottoms.

One reason I agreed to this whole adoption arrangement is that my husband grew up in Texas from sixth grade on, and he fondly remembers the pleasing aroma of his mother’s gardenia. It is not overly strong, like lilac or magnolia, rather a subtler blend of fresh, floral flavor that is not easy to describe, yet something glorious to inhale. I’m sorry to say that this winter may have been the gardenia’s Waterloo.

Several weeks ago, as the temperatures plunged I frocked her thoroughly, with more drapes than in prior years. During stages of the wintry mix, I cleared snow, then sleet, then ice from her outer coat, after which I waited almost two weeks for temperatures to climb back above freezing, at least in the daytime. Finally I was able to pull off the layers and invite our cloistered friend out into the sunshine. I honestly feared she’d be dead from two weeks of darkness, but this was not the case.

However, another snow event last week featured temperatures just above freezing, but a wet and heavy mix weighing down limbs for several hours. Judging from the belt of ragged, brown leaves this last bout of winter may prove to have been the knock out punch that I’ve dreaded for the past five years. Yet I know the roots are strong, and many of the leaves are still lapping up sunshine. So I can’t be sure.

This will no doubt be the year that our now-ragged gardenia gets a long-overdue haircut and styling. A proper coiffing, once her surviving blooms have had their moment on center stage. Stay tuned for an eventual update.

No Laughing Matter

On Monday through Thursday nights Brian and I record The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, then watch it together the next early evening. It’s been almost a year, now, since we swore off all network evening news programs, preferring instead to consume our news through the filter of humor, or else read it on selected online sites. Such are the times we live in, now.

I have this fantasy that Colbert will take his own questionnaire, on air, before his program ends this coming May. Or that at least he might reveal to us what number he’s been thinking of each time he queries his guests. My best guess is that the number changes daily and matches the number of each new episode, or perhaps it is a countdown of the number of shows he has left before his un-renewed contract expires. In my last blog post, I took The Colbert Questionnaire myself, several days ago.

As sad as it is to realize that his current show is winding down, there is no doubt in my mind that Stephen will go on to do great things, and continue fighting fascism in a media format that is not corporate or Trump-controlled. Most of his fans would eagerly follow him almost anywhere, at this point.

Stephen, Stephen, Stephen….