Rainy Day Fun

Rain has kept us mostly inside today. So far it's a gentle Spring rain, the kind that doesn't cause landscape erosion or flood basements. We are finding our own fun today.

I've been transferring my herbs into larger pots. I'm growing Basil, Cilantro, Chives, Flat Leaf Parsley, Oregano, and Thyme. This year I started them all from seed, which I've never done before with herbs. Only tomatoes. So far, so good. But what I always forget is that as my seedlings are ready for bigger pots, I begin to run out of tray space for them. Our front porch window sills accommodate four ten inch by two feet or so of rectangular trays, but after that I'm negotiating with Brian's bike gear for additional real estate.

The kids and their grandma have been watching It's the Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown, playing old favorites on the Wii, and now it's time for UNO Attack! All the while, Grandma regales them with stories from their childhood, and stories about their their cousins down in Austin or their late Grandpa and all the ridiculous situations that have occurred over the years, each story growing in hilarity with the retelling. 

Grandma is the best story teller, too. She knows just which stories are right for every situation, and which parts to highlight. The gut-splitting laughter is so welcome for all of them. For me, too.

Togetherness, again! After fifteen months. 

Sky Meadow Musings

This morning we were out the door by 10:00am, headed west with Grandma Kathie for an afternoon in horse country. We were not going for the horses; we were going for the country.

Forty minutes or so after leaving the highway construction behind us, we arrived at Turtle Pond, in Sky Meadows State Park, and turned right to follow the lane back to the horse barn. Four pick-up trucks with long, luminescent trailers were lined up diagonally just beyond the car park lot. A couple of riders in boots and breeches were saddling up their steeds as we walked by to consult the posted map and choose an easy path for ourselves.

Moments later we were happily strolling along a wide, mown trail adjacent to a running brook, water glistening in the early spring sunshine. Birds cooed and called out to each other, a gentle breeze cooled us, and green buds danced all around us. Relaxing and joyful all at once, we soaked it all in and breathed it out.

I noticed that Grandma was choosing her steps carefully, not entirely confident of her ability to avoid falling on the rock juts here and there. I gave myself a mental kick for not thinking to bring along a walking stick - we have plenty - for her. After brief stops at a wooden bridge and a gigantic wooden bench that looked as though it was meant for Paul Bunyan, we retraced our steps back along the same brook, grateful for another great day outside together.

A Winning Day

It’s great to have a golfer in the family. Especially when you need access to Hains Point during Cherry Blossom season. 

This afternoon, Will was only too happy to double his usual 64 balls at the driving range. Meanwhile the rest of the family strolled out to the tip of Hains Point and back, enjoying the blossoms along the channel that passes Fort McNair and leads to the Wharf. Molly had Grandma all to herself, while Brian and I dallied for the usual photo ops, water birds, and kites.

It just so happens that the East Potomac driving range faces the incoming and outgoing flight paths of National Airport. Ever since Will was 6 or 7, he has loved going to Gravelly Point to watch the airplanes come and go from directly underneath them. Now that he’s a teen golfer, he has another great vantage point, one that allows him to ID the plane’s colors and symbols, as well.

Today we managed to provide cherry blossoms in the sunshine for Grandma Kathie, solo grandma time for Molly, and plane-gazing plus golf ball blasting for Will. That’s a win-win-win!

Breathe Out

It's 7:00pm and I'm ready for bed. I almost fell asleep on the sofa, Sunday laundry still not folded. (Doesn't matter. It's Spring Break!)

At 7:20pm I'm in my pajamas, in case I fall asleep on the sofa, Sunday laundry still in baskets. (Doesn't matter. It's Spring Break!)

Grandma Kathie has arrived. She and Will are halfway through their Madagascar marathon, a longstanding tradition. Between them they can voice all of the characters. The rest of us are reading, writing, or listening to music in other parts of the house. We're giving them their special time together. Their ritual celebration of togetherness.

Tomorrow we head out to see Grandma K's old DC haunts, and to show her what's new since her last visit. The Wharf, for one. The caged-in Capitol, if she's interested. (I'm really not.) Maybe we'll go see the cherry blossoms in front of Nationals Park and try the trail along the Anacostia. 

Tomorrow is full of possibility. But this evening I think I will go fall asleep on the sofa, in my pajamas. Or maybe fold the laundry.

Bluebell Beauties

Virginia Bluebells are best enjoyed up close. The flowers are tiny, while the foliage is vast in comparison. Until a friend tried to get them established in her back yard several years ago, I was completely oblivious to this delicate native beauty. I watched my friend’s efforts with interest. 

Fast forward to now, and here I am enjoying my own several plants, newly-established. 

The pink buds blend into the blue of the delicate bells as tie-dyed cloth. A captivating cascade, facing downward from several sturdy stems, contrasts against the bright Spring green of the saucer-like leaves. I hope tomorrow’s rain does not disturb them.

Just Around the Corner

I always think of Frog and Toad in the Spring. My favorite story is “The Corner”.

When I was a classroom EL teacher, I enjoyed sharing this story with my students in March, when we’d all had just about enough of the cold, dreary, draggy days of still-Winter.

In the story, Frog traipses through the woods and a meadow, taking each corner he comes to, but finding only a pine tree, dried grass, a sleeping worm and other non-signs of Spring. Finally it begins to rain, so he heads home. There, he finds one more corner that is the corner of his house. When he rounds that corner the sun is coming out, the birds are singing, the flowers are blooming, and his parents are working in the garden. 

“You found it!” cried Toad.

“Yes,” said Frog. “I had found the corner that Spring was just around. I was very happy.”

This past week of school for us, with that very rainy day in the middle, was the corner that Spring Break was just around. And we are happy indeed!

Say What?

This evening while running the remote through its paces, we happened on a great escape into a twenty year old movie called Frequency, with Dennis Quaid. It’s a time travel movie that is not as easy to poke holes in as some that I’ve seen. The whole thing turns on a father-son relationship, and their chance meeting over a ham radio almost thirty years after the father, a fireman, dies in a warehouse fire. 

Apparently we saw this movie in a theater with old friends now living in West Chester, PA when it first came out. How wonderful that I can forget it entirely, and live to enjoy it all over again. I look forward to rediscovering more movies I don’t remember.

Meanwhile, my recall for names and words seems to be worse than usual. This concerns me, but I am also wondering if perhaps seven months of mega-tasking in a medium that over-taxes me continually (technology) could be responsible for the sluggishness of my synapses.

Sometimes in the middle of class I find my mind wandering in ways that are noticeable to my co-teachers.

So yeah... it’s definitely time for Spring Break. Time to decompress, and push the reset button. Time to watch my children reconnect with their Grandma Kathie. Time to take my bike over to Hanes Point and rider a few rounds while Will drives a bucket of balls. Time to set up the hammock, make a fire in the pit, and just enjoy

Today in TA

Facilitating interaction between a group of online students is a challenge.

Today in TA we blew off the planned lesson and spent the entire session talking about what it’s like to have over-protective parents, or to be an only child, and how tiresome the responsibilities of older siblings toward their younger siblings can be. Seven of eight students were engaged. The eighth disappeared to the bathroom at some point, and when I called his name several times to try and involve him, his older sibling chimed in because of course he was listening to the conversation. I mean, it was impassioned and riveting!

I’m not even sure how it began. I typically start TA by putting a question in the chat. What is your passion? How does rain make you feel, and why? If you could order dinner from anywhere in Arlington tonight, where would you chose?

Today I began with a request. List three specific things you plan to do over Spring Break. Once we got past the “eat, sleep, and play video games” type answers I urged them to really think about how they would like to spend their time, so they don’t just wake up in ten days wishing they’d done something besides eat, sleep, and play video games. That’s when it all began.

“You’re allowed to walk to Bancroft on your own? Wow! My mom would NEVER let me do THAT!”

“Sometimes I with I had someone to hang out with. You’re lucky you live with a cousin!”

“At least you don’t have to be responsible for a little sister whenever your parents are busy. Your only have to be responsible for yourself!”

The circles lit up one after another, and those who couldn’t get a word in verbally used the chat to contribute to the conversation. None of us could believe how fast TA time flew by, today. 

Today in TA felt like a turning point.

Finding a Rhythm

This will be my first five day week at school in over a year. I went in on Monday to help with WIDA ACCESS testing. Though last week was a total grind, due to the time change, this week feels oddly manageable.

Each day now the sun is rising a few minutes earlier. By the time we go back to school after Spring Break I will finally be waking up in daylight again.

Daylight. Warmth. TA and lunches back outside. Several laps around TJ Park, if I drive to school. Basking in the sunshine by the garden, if I walk or bike on a given day. I’m gradually getting back into something close to a rhythm, and it feels okay. 

But two more days until Spring Break feels pretty good, too.

The Lore of Baseball

This evening I’m enjoying a Nationals Classic baseball game from May of 2012, with newly-brought-up Bryce Harper, still green behind the ears, was playing his first home stand to a half empty stadium. Zim was at Third, and Werth had just arrived in Right Field, one year prior. Laroche was our First Baseman, and Desi at Shortstop. 

Zim, Werth, Desi, and Laroche... those were exciting days, as the Nats made their first-ever post season appearance in October. 2012 was also the year that I reached major league fandom.  

The Nats opponent on this particular occasion was the Arizona Diamondbacks, with Matt Williams as Third Base Coach, and Gerardo Parra as a starting Outfielder. 

Stalwart Nats fans will remember Williams as the expressionless Nats Manager in 2014-15, who failed to notice a scuffle in his own dugout between Papplebon and Bryce Harper on the last day of the 2015 season (and the last day of William’s tenure as Manager). Coincidence? I think not. 

Bandwagon Nats fans will remember Parra as the enthusiastic veteran on the bench who introduced Baby Shark walk-ups and dugout dancing during the National’s 2019 run-up to the World Series Championship. Some day those fans will find themselves reaching back to savor their storied memories, just as I’m savoring mine, today.

Vaccine Envy

We are at that point in the vaccination rollout where friends, cousins, and other relatives are beginning to get their first vaccines. As a teacher, of course, I’ve had both of mine for about six weeks now. But if I weren’t a teacher I can only imagine that I’d be feeling some anxiety each time I hear of a new conquest.

A friend who is self-employed just posted, “ I have some severe vaccine envy going on right now. What’s a girl gotta do to get her shot? I feel left out.”

In theory we all benefit from every shot in every arm. In practice, however, folks my age (in their 50’s) have just about reached their outer rung of patience. A couple I know snagged their first appointments at a CVS in South Carolina three weekends ago. My spouse is heading to a CVS in Danville, VA in two days for his first vaccine. 

“I’ve never been to Appomattox Courthouse,” he pointed out. “And I will see if Margaret and Greg are available for dinner on my way back through Charlottesville.” The truth is, he needs a day away from work and this house, and he’s looking forward to an adventure.

Here’s hoping that on April 21st, when he’s scheduled to head down to Danville again, he’ll be only too happy for a second driver. Perhaps we’ll celebrate, on the way home, with a visit to Michie Tavern and the grounds of Monticello all abloom. Or maybe a stop-off at the Plow & Hearth garden store in Madison, VA. (Not that I’m feeling any vaccine envy.)

Greenery for the Girls

I remember eyeing the live cat grass and cat nip in pots by the register during a recent visit to Pet Smart. At the time I did not think either one merited its $7.99 price tag, and I made a mental note to grow my  own for Izzy and Bella. Izzy, in particular, has always been up on the counter, curious about the new flower bouquets we bring home from Trader Joe’s. 

This afternoon, after dropping off my son, my husband, and their bikes at Williamsburg Barber, my next order of business was to swing by Pet Smart for exactly what I never ended up growing on my own. My change of heart came about because Izzy’s tummy has been bothering her ever since she threw up her breakfast this morning. I found myself wondering if perhaps chomping on some grass might help her to set things right, in the way she might do on her own if she were an outdoor cat. And knowing how jealous Bella would be of a fresh pot of greens beside Izzy’s feeding station, I grabbed the live cat nip for her.

Two hours later Izzy is still tucked away in the front bedroom closet, curled up in the old doll bed she claimed for herself when it used to be in my daughter’s bedroom. Meanwhile, Bella has walked past the cat nip several times, giving it the side eye but not venturing over to take so much as a sniff. Even after I ripped and crumbled a couple of the leaves to create an aroma, and left them on the corner of the nearby scratching post, she merely gazed with half interest from afar. 

Time will tell if my $16+ investment was a complete waste. But the greenery sure has perked up both feeding areas!

Good Tired

Another great, sunny morning in the school garden included the following activities:

Turning cover crop and readying more rows for planting

More winter sowing in gallon milk jugs

Another layer or two of compost 

Emptying, sweeping, and reorganizing the shed

Cutting a mega roll of yoga mat into “sit-upons” for outdoor student use

We are off to a great start this Spring, with so many volunteers. Almost too many eager hands to keep busy, which is a good challenge to have.

After returning home to continue working through my own outdoor list, I’m tired. Good tired. Fresh air and sunlight tired. End of a long, busy week tired. I’m looking forward to my day of rest (and laundry), tomorrow.

Poo-Pooing the Port-o-Potty

A church that used to occupy our school building every Sunday morning pre-pandemic is preparing to return for outdoor services on the hardscape area between Fleet ES and Jefferson MS. The Superintendent has apparently okayed this arrangement. I have no problem with it, either. What I do have a problem with is the port-o-potty that our Building Manager suggested placing behind the country-erected shed at the edge of our school/community garden. 

“Are you kidding me?” I said to Arnold unabashedly?! (We are on a first name basis after years of working together in this building and on these grounds.) “Why there?”

“We need an out of the way location to hide it. It would stay locked except for Sunday mornings, and it would be serviced regularly,” he explained, sheepishly.

“We have a pollinator garden extension behind that shed!” I said, in a pleading tone of voice. “Isn’t there anywhere else it could go?” Arnold signaled just a moment as he took a call on his cell phone and headed toward the main office.

After taking a few deep breaths and realizing that ultimately the County will do what it wants, I texted Arnold back to say, “Can we at least go look at the site together to determine where would work best? We would not just want it plunked down anywhere.”

“It’s all good,” he promptly texted back. “I told them there was opposition.”

Thanks Arnold. I should have known you’ve got our backs.

First Rainy Morning

I’ve got the rainy day blahs. It all started when I was trying to juggle a backpack, a lunch bag, an umbrella and an insulated coffee cup on my way out the door this morning. I made it to the car without having to open my umbrella. But getting into the car I spilled most of my coffee all the way down my left sleeve. It was a drenching. I had no choice but to proceed on to school because I was already running late.

The coffee was just for sipping on the short ride to school. My crucial first cup had been safely consumed at the kitchen counter 45 minutes prior, along with a peanut butter banana. 

At school, in the rec center parking lot, I joined the crawling student drop-off line that snaked alongside an idling school bus before I could worm my way into a parking spot, gather everything except the offending coffee cup, and make a dash for Door #8. Halfway up the long sidewalk I realized I’d worn the wrong shoes, but at least I didn’t soak them in the huge puddle that consumed the entire twenty foot width of cement. 

Inside the building on this muggy day, my sweating face drenched my first mask, so I had to switch to a second one before hurrying to the other end of the building in time for the Pledge. As I sat still, catching my breath during the Moment of Silence, I reminisced fondly about rolling out of bed twenty minutes before going online, then looked around eagerly to see which students had survived the harrowing trek into school along with their teachers on this dark, wet morning. 

From Pixie Cut to Curtain Bangs

She did it. She finally did it. Today she gave herself "curtain bangs". 

My daughter's earliest sign of autonomy, in life, was to grow out her bangs and chin-length beveled haircut. Before her paper-thin toddler hair had grown any thickness, she envied her elder cousins’ longer locks, and she noticed that Disney princesses did not sport bangs. 

At first, her lengthening hair was very fly-away wispy, without enough weight to hold it in place, so it always looked unkempt. She had to use a spray-on detangling product in order to be able to pull a comb all the way through. But since she was such an active youngster, always running with the boys during recess or hanging upside down on the monkey bars after school on the playground, her hair worked best in pigtails, and later on, pony tails or braids.

As a teenager she washed her hair almost daily, and rarely cut its length, even to remove the brittle split ends caused by the straightening device used for most of two years. She mourned the fading of her childhood yellow-blond into a dishwater blond, and finally into a light brown. Boxes of hair dye, for highlights, helped to assuage her dismay. In addition she researched and sampled an array of hair care products as well as old-fashioned techniques such as an apple-cider vinegar rinse for luster, and a lemon juice scalp massage for restoring the PH level. She even taught herself to do her own French braid.

More recently she has grown into young adulthood with less obvious highlights, less oily pores, and a greater sense of style and self-assurance. She has become a knowledgeable resource to her friends, and she even attempts to coach her teen-aged brother on daily hygiene pertaining to his skin and hair. 

Somewhere along the line that long, wispy hair thickened up nicely, and now always appears ready and well cared for. But lo and behold the bangs are back! Curtain bangs: a new look for a new stage of life that beckons. 

Independence Reclaimed

This morning my fifteen-year-old son was awake and downstairs by 6:30am, filling an eight inch bowl with "red box" Joe's O's. That's the smaller box that packs a large punch, with nine grams of fiber, six grams of protein, vitamins and minerals galore. 

This was destined to be a big day for my not-so-little-one.

Twenty minutes later, as I was packing my lunch, I noticed that he'd begun gathering together the items he would need for his day: his MacBook and charger, a composition book, a spiral, a few writing tools, his bike helmet, and gloves. Despite the cloudy weather, and Dad's offer of a ride to school, he seemed determined to bike independently. That was how he'd traveled to and from school for three-quarters of his freshman year, until in-person school abruptly ended.

I peeked through the slightly-ajar bathroom door to see that he was trimming his fingernails, and preening a bit, making sure that he looked presentable for his grand return. This is my chance, I thought. 

"Hey Bud," I offered, "what if you try some of that dry shampoo? It will take care of the shine." Heaven forbid I should call it grease, but what fifteen year old boy's entire head isn't oozing with oil?

He hesitated a couple of seconds, "Oh...kay. I guess." At which point I pulled a total MOM on him. 

I sprayed all over his scalp, back and forth, lifting up bangs, then sides, and finally under the hair dragging on his neck. Before he knew what had happened, I was running a brush through his hair, sweeping his now-silky bangs across his forehead to one side. Pressing my luck.

"GET OUT!" he demanded, grabbing his comb, and in three determined strokes he restored the straight-bang look that he's worn ever since pre-school.

"Have a great day!" I called out over my shoulder as I headed to the front of the house, destined for my own big day back in a building. 

He may have grunted, "You too." I can't be sure.

Caring Community

The Randolph ES Food Pantry is now one full year into showing the surrounding community just how much we care about collective welfare. This effort involves hundreds of volunteers and community partners from throughout Arlington County, but is primarily organized by Bethany Sutton and the Randolph PTA Leadership. What follows are a couple of excerpts from Bethany's weekly updates to the Douglas Park Civic Association listserv:

Here's how we have told our neighbors we care about you:

• In the 52 weeks since schools closed in March 2020, we have opened the food pantry 47 times;
• More than 350 families have benefited from the food pantry;
• We have distributed more than 7,000 bags of non-perishable groceries;
• Across the course of the year, we also have distributed fruits and vegetables, bread, chicken, eggs, yogurt, cheese, and pantry staples such as vegetable oil, masa corn flour, sugar, and salt;
• With the support of partners, we have on four occasions been able to distribute prepared meals and additionally shared summer snow cones, Halloween candy, grocery gift cards, and Valentine's Day treats;
• In addition to groceries, we have distributed toiletries, diapers, cleaning products, laundry detergent, toilet paper & paper towels, masks, books, and school supplies.

And here are a few recent statistics on our current impact:

• Since we reopened the food pantry in January 2021 after the winter break, 152 families have come 50% or more of the time, with 91 families coming 80-100% of the time;
• We have seen a total of 250 families since early January;
• Our average attendance remains steady at approximately 150 families/week.
  

Best of all, here is the golden line of Bethany's report:

During this year of "social distancing" we have, in fact, brought our community together (safely) in ways that intentionally and joyfully defied that distance.

Every Sunday, when I read Bethany's weekly update, I feel hopeful about the future, despite the many challenges that remain. Public education has taken a big hit this past year by being virtual. But our schools' families are mostly still here, surviving week to week, and hoping to stay put. 

What I hope for most, each week as Bethany reflects on the Food Pantry's efforts, is that our caring community stays intact long enough to see all of our children back in APS buildings five days a week, happily reunited with teachers and friends; and that food insecurity no longer remains a week to week concern in our community.

 

Heart and Soul

Years ago, when the cheerful yellow home next to us was a drab group house, we first met someone who has become one of our best family friends. On cool summer evenings, or an early Spring day like this one, I can recall the sound of Andrea’s infectious laughter rolling through our upstairs hallway window, or into our family room from two sides, as she and her friends enjoyed a lively visit on the front porch. I miss the sound of her warm, carefree heart, and we all miss the days of having Andrea right next door. 

These days, when I’m outside gardening on such a day as this one, or when we have the windows on three sides flung wide open so our family room feels like a screened-in porch, I hear the happy vocalizations of Trevor, from across the back fences of Nelson and 16th Streets. His lilting descants express the joy he feels from the sun and the cool breeze; or from the swing, the hammock, and other instances of the sensory input his body craves. At 14, Trevor uses a letter board to communicate his thoughts and dreams. But I hear his soul in the soft, wafting breezes while I’m communing with soil and sun. 

Like that old piano duet from childhood that we all learned to play, these familiar and uplifting neighbor-sounds are comforting, too. 

Soft Opening

This was our first of two Saturday mornings in the TJMS Community Garden before Spring Break. A great turnout included school staff, students, parents, a sibling, and several community members - about twenty eager souls total. Everything on our collective mental list happened:

• turning cover crop, hoeing, planting peas, and transplanting winter- sown lettuces. 

• filling and planting three new round canvas beds, and planting root veggies (beets, parsnips, radishes and carrots).

• light pruning of roses, weeding of flower bed, and planting of blue and gold (school-colored) pansies between the rose bushes.

• initiation of the new Eagle Scout compost bin with layers of green plants, brown leaves, and coffee grounds.

• re-seeding tire ruts from last week’s mulch delivery

Exhaustion tinged with exhilaration best describes the feeling that Reidy, Kaila, and I shared when we finally locked up the little blue shed and dragged ourselves home.

    

Keeping Afloat

My writing streak is broken. I fell asleep on the sofa last evening, one episode into Schitts Creek. 

We’re actually bored with the show, halfway through Season 2. The characters, though delightfully quirky, are not evolving at all, and every episode feels like it is building towards something, but by the end (or the next beginning) they are all back where they started. I’m not sure how much more we can take, but we’ve heard that by Season 3 we will be glad we stuck with it.

I can still do the English 6 Hundred Day Challenge, but I’ve effectively started over today. As far as the Month of Slicing goes, I will do what I did last year and post again later today as penance for missing yesterday (and only send one entry to the Two Teachers Writing site).

As far as I’m concerned, this whole daily writing business is about recapturing the joy I’ve always felt in writing, and staying afloat for as long as I’m in the water. When I fall off the board, I’ll climb back on and start paddling again. My purpose is to connect with my surroundings and feel the joy while I’m here.

Cross Purposes

“The Huchera will line this pathway, “ I said, as I motioned towards my latest floral acquisitions of the season. “I’m not a big fan of lariope. I continued. “It’s okay for arcs and curves, but I wouldn’t want to line a whole bed with it.”

 “Humans walk in straight lines,” he said to me. 

As I puzzled over what he meant by this, he went on to explain that his daily treks to the back corner of the yard to retrieve his bicycle from the shed, and return it there at the end of his rides, entailed too many pathways, twists, and turns. What he wants is a more direct path through the organic lines of my backyard canvas. (Not that he doesn’t appreciate its transformation over the past two decades since he moved here as a bachelor.)

“I don’t mind if you walk your bike through that bed. The creeping juniper can bear some traffic,” I offered.

We briefly resurrected the idea of constructing a combination bike/refuse shed, or lean-to, against the recessed kitchen wall just beyond the mud porch door; a tricky project, we once discovered, because attaching it to the house wall would require submitting plans and pulling a permit, and by code we might even have to relocate the crawl space vent if we close in too much of the structure.

“There is no such thing as a straight line,” I thought to myself as we headed inside to get dinner going.

No Cheaters Here

I just read a poetic post from a Slicer who inadvertently skipped writing on Day 7. Her struggle with whether or not to cheat amused me because blogging platforms don’t allow you to cheat. 

I know. I’ve tried. 

Last year was my first Hundred Day Challenge, and there were about three days when I just couldn’t do it. But the following day I always posted twice, for penance. Besides, there was no way to backdate a post.

Or so I thought.

So far, so good this year. I am only ten days in, but I happened to notice, while searching for the link symbol to use, above, that there are blogger options I did not know about over on the right sideboard, including one to change the date on a post. Just sayin’.

Not that I would ever cheat.

The Morning Grind

This morning I woke up at 6:30am. I was the first one awake in my family, except for the cats meowing pitifully at the basement door. I could hear them as I slunk down the stairs and into the kitchen, but my first priority was to get the coffee going.

“Humpf,” I thought to myself, “I really don’t like being the first one awake.”

It was so much better to wake up to the familiar smell of fresh coffee, waiting for me in the pot. I’ve been spoiled. I married a morning person. Until just this month, I have never been the first one to get the day started.

While the coffee trickled slowly into the pot, I opened the pantry, pulled out the plastic bin of dried cat morsels, and plunked a quarter cup into each cat bowl. Then I opened the basement door for the hungry monsters, and stood back to watch the daily spectacle, like the running of the bulls in Pamplona, Spain.

”Good morning, Girls!” I chuckled.

With coffee in mug, and mug in hand, I strolled over to the back picture window to enjoy the gold finches on the thistle sock. Meanwhile the mourning doves checked out the surrounding spillage, while a squirrel wrestled with the suet cage on the other side of the backyard.

As I tracked the morning activity of critters outside, the critters inside were just finishing their breakfast. One cat was stretched out by the stairs, licking her paws and cleaning her face, while the other one nuzzled up against my legs with her sweetest good morning hugs.

“If only the cats could let themselves out of the basement and make the first pot of coffee,” I mused.

Savoring the Moment

I smell banana bread! Molly is baking again. This is one of the fringe benefits of her Gap Year, for us. Another one is her role as Will’s executive function coach. 

Virtual learning would not have gone so well for Will, or for me, if we hadn’t had Molly around this year helping out. She set up a Homework white board checkpoint to help him keep track of assignments and due dates. At the end of each school day, she checks in with him and makes him verbalize a “plan” for the rest of the day. If he’s stuck with Math, he goes to his dad. But otherwise, Molly is guiding him towards more independence before making her exit next year.

I’ve recently begun to realize how much I am going to miss my firstborn when she heads off to Richmond next year for college. VCU was her one and only choice, her one and only application and acceptance, and she is still happy with this choice one year-of-deferment later. She plans to study Political Science with a concentration in Civil Rights. 

One corner of Molly’s bedroom already contains a small pile of “must haves” for her dorm room, as noted by friends who began their college journeys this year: a heating pad for cramps, a small bedside rug so as not to feel the cold floor with bare feet first thing in the morning, slippers and a house coat for middle of the night alarms, and so on. I notice her sneaking extra face care products into the Amazon cart, recently, as she begins to stock up. 

Meanwhile, one corner of my heart is starting to sag as I consider her departure from our daily lives. But for right now I will just savor the aroma of banana bread, fresh from the oven, that draws us all into the kitchen together.

Weekend Lament

Weekends fly by. That is a fact of life for people who work Monday to Friday. 

The only time in my life that I did not welcome weekends was my first year of college when I was terrified of going out to parties with my hall mates. Parties, at that time, meant fraternity parties. Or sorority rush, later in the year. I never felt comfortable tagging along. I wasn’t a beer drinker then, and I’m not much of one now. I preferred squirreling away at Alderman Library, going for walks, or hiding out at my brother’s 14th Street apartment while he cooked dinner for the two of us. No Friday Night Lights for this Wahoo!

Fast forward to my Toronto years, when I spent weekends singing in my housemate’s church choir, where she directed both human and organ pipes. Or attending my other housemate’s (and boyfriend’s) evening vespers, where they sang as paid leads, alto and baritone. In later years I joined UT’s Hart House Choir, and weekends entailed Saturday morning workshops, or sessions with my roommates helping me work out my vocal parts at the harpsichord-in-residence, as I prepared for weeknight practices. Those weekends were full and fleeting. 

Weekends now involve planning and preparing for Spring gardening. Hours spent outside in the late winter sun feel like mere moments, though magic ones. Then suddenly Sunday evening lands all over again.

Me, Myself, and I

Today I pampered myself in a number of ways. 

I slept in, I enjoyed a second cup of coffee before running a couple of quick morning errands, then I visited a favorite escape from a past era of my life for a leisurely afternoon walk before indulging myself with a mani-pedi. I took full advantage of the fact that no one really needed me today. 

Green Spring Gardens is tucked behind the Salvation Army on Little River Turnpike, and can be accessed from Braddock Road. Open year-round, this extensive public garden is an oasis of inspiration and education operated free of charge by Fairfax Park Authority. I first discovered it over a decade ago when my job involved wearing out two active youngsters on a daily basis. They could run free, and I could keep them in sight while also enjoying a stroll among plants.

No one else needed me today, but I sure needed some time with, and for, myself.

Making Connections

When I woke up this morning I wanted nothing more than to stay home and work virtually, but the expectation was for us to be in-building even though it was a teacher workday. I gave the snooze button an extra workout, and I lingered over my coffee and steel-cut oatmeal. Eventually I dressed, gathered my devices, and pushed off in time for a 9:00am arrival.

Circling the hallways allowed me to reconnect with colleagues personally, which immediately helped the building to feel friendlier. Catching up on toddlers Charles and Teddy, as well as Kimberly’s dogs, then poking my head into Jeremy’s little cave... all of these personal touches felt comforting, and just as necessary as updating my co-planning folder or pulling up student interims.

Elita helped me solve a MacBook conundrum, and while doing so I witnessed Mr. Bee’s triumph in figuring out the crucial SMART Board settings and webcam placement for concurrent teaching. Being able to carry this information down to Ms. Vernier so that she could finalize her own classroom set-up, which we tested out in a Teams meeting with Meagan, was also exciting. 

Later on, as I was getting ready to head out, Tracey arrived to conquer her own classroom set-up so that we will finally be able to enjoy an echo-free two-way connection with our classroom students and our virtual students beginning on Tuesday. 

Today underscored for me the importance of showing up, even when the task ahead feels impossible. Today also highlighted the joy of connecting with the people around me, and how working together helps to move us all forward.

Stuck in the Mud

This morning I had just settled into my cozy corner in Room 272 when I got a phone call from Mr. Appanah, our Building Manager, asking me if I could head outside and meet the mulch truck. He told me he had tried to discourage them from coming today because he feared the ground was not yet dry enough.

I alerted my two co-teachers and dashed outside to meet the truck, thinking it would take 5-10 minutes at most. The truck driver and attendant seemed determined to off-load the mulch today, even if they couldn’t get in inside the garden gates. One of them has delivered to us in the past without issue. 

Though somewhat dubious myself, I helped them move the bleacher and plot out the least soggy route from the asphalt pathway towards the garden. The experienced man on the job got out of the truck to walk around and test the ground, which he apparently deemed okay. Who was I to question his experience?

Mud oozed around the back wheels of the truck. I opened the garden shed to grab shovels and rakes for the flummoxed workers, encouraging them to use any branches, blocks of wood, or stones they could find. Then I texted my co-workers about my thickening plight. Reidy Brown, my school garden partner, was thankfully happy to dash over to relieve me so I could get back to class.

Rushing the season doesn’t always work out so well, but there is now mulch on the premises, if also deep ruts in the grass. Nine days from now we will open the garden as planned. But tomorrow I’m packing an extra bag of grass seed 

Field of Dreams

It’s barely March and I’ve already been out to Merrifield Garden Center twice this month, or rather twice this week. I’m definitely pushing the season. 

Sun and shade perennials are still hiding inside billowing, rectangular circus tents until the threat of frost has safely passed. The old equipment barn is getting a new roof, and other off-season refinements are winding down. Hours have just been extended from 6:00pm until 7:00pm, as late winter days grow longer.

The reason for my first trip was a specific brand of grass seed and some top soil. Ground cover exploration lured me back again today. Ground cover, and the warm, sunny day. Driving west, into the golden glow, on my annual pilgrimage to reclaim Spring, and dream up new planting projects, I reveled in the possibility of it all. 

Leap of Faith

A precipice, to me, is a scarier place than the base of a mountain, perhaps because of my abject fear of heights, in contrast to my enjoyment of hiking. This past year of teaching has been a journey leading me from one precipice to another. I have not been alone in this journey, but the journey has been lonely at times.

Today we return to the school building, a huge leap of faith in our employer’s promise to keep us all safe. 

Will there be HEPA filters waiting for us in each and every room? 

Will mask-wearing and distancing be enforced among those who are reluctant? 

Can we truly teach in-person students as we concurrently teach students who remain virtual learners? 

Will such a stilted environment be more alienating than working from home? 

These are some of the questions on my mind as we head back into the building today.

No Margin for Error

For the first time since APS rolled out the Qualtrics daily check-in system for staff several weeks ago, my finger slipped (or was it my brain?) and I inadvertently answered “yes” to one of the questions. 

There is no going back and changing answers. I didn’t even sign the pledge or submit the form. But I still got the big red “NO” symbol. 

How can this system be so unforgiving as to not allow edits?

Today is the Qualtrics rollout for students, which includes my teenage son. Were I to accidentally strand him at home one Tuesday or Wednesday, he too might be unforgiving. He is desperate to regain the independence that he had developed during his first year of high school. Being turned away at the schoolhouse door because of a Mom error would be humiliating for him.

Maybe it’s a good thing I’m exploring the margin of error on my own survey this morning, with an email in to Mr. Jarosz, our on-site safety guru.