Along the Edge

As predicted, it snowed this morning in Northern Virginia. Not a threatening, nuisance kind of snow – just clusters of flakes gathering on the forsythia for a moment, then gone in a blink. I had to laugh though, because just yesterday, my snowmen went down for their long summer’s nap.

That was this morning.

This afternoon, despite (ok, because of) the local news coverage of sunshine, yet disappointingly low temperatures on Cherry Blossom Festival weekend, Hubsy and I drove up the Potomac for a walk around the tidal basin. Maybe our tourist behavior is our way of savoring the local flavor while we’re still locals. Anyway, the crowds were small and well-behaved – far fewer sprigs broken off and tucked behind the ears of stylish young ladies. Plenty of winter accessories, though: I actually saw a little girl with a leopard-spotted faux fur hand muff.

Sometimes, it’s what you don’t see that makes an afternoon a little more special. In my case that would be slow moving pedestrians absent-mindedly uh-huhing into their cell phones while their children dangle over the murky drink. There was a fortunate absence of that today. Forgive me, I’ve spent the past week immersed in as much Jane Austen as time would allow.

Back to the Tidal Basin: There were plenty of tripods scattered about, so many photo opportunities for young families. We did that too, as Sonny and Chica were growing up. Really, who can resist? Clichés be damned! It’s Cherry Blossom season after all, and Cherry Blossoms make us all look a little more beautiful, fresh-faced – innocent, even.

Welcome, spring. Welcome back, pathologically optimistic aspect of my nature.

Packing up the Boys

The snowman collection comes out every Thanksgiving when we decorate the house for Christmas. For the past fifteen Christmas mornings, Hubsy, Sonny, or Chica has presented me with the newest addition to my fluffy, goofy little army. I don’t know who decided I should collect something, but I still don’t think it was my idea, not that I object. When your husband and small children decide you collect snowmen and build a Christmas shopping ritual around your next one, you definitely collect snowmen and you love every minute of it. And when your husband and grown children continue to build the collection, well, you amass some seriously adorable pieces.

When we take down the lights, tree and other decorations, the snowmen stay out. As a teacher who enjoys a good blizzard, I think of them as inspiration for the best kind of inclement weather for my profession. Seriously, for an educated woman, I have my superstitions, so the snow guys never get put away before the first of March. This year, it didn’t happen until today. Since we’ve probably had our last Christmas season in this house, I thought I’d capture the moment.

Anyway, here they are on display in Alexandria for the last time. They’ll come out again on November 24, at a location to be determined.

Going Dark

In one of my earliest posts, I promised to keep the writing in this forum - among other things - positive. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Really did.

Really Feeling the Space This Week

Hubsy and I are six and a half years into the "commuting phase" of our marriage. Literally, from Monday to Friday, we phone it in. Most weeks, he's working on Cape Cod, and I'm here in Alexandria spoiling the cat. Some weeks fly; others limp along. But this week, he's in Guam too many miles, roaming charges, and time zones away. Since we aren't proficient with Skype, I don't know when I'll hear his voice again, and I'm shocked at how deeply this shakes me up after just a few days.

Ah, but we'll always have email.

This is what leaked out of my pen this morning:

So, once Monday marches from GottaRunDay to FinallyDoneDay,
Then Tuesday whines from FightofftheBluesDay to ChooseNotToLoseDay,
On Wednesday, ItDependsDay, ICanPhoneAFriendsDay, or PushMyPensDay.
Thursday seeps in as Blursday, but runs into Getting’HersDay
But HeavySighDay, Friday, Don’tWannaDieDay, Really GottaFlyDay,
To pick up my love who only ever arrives at departures.

So far, I'm calling it "A Weakness for Poetry".

Hubsy is getting a webcam for his birthday - whether he wants one or not. He doesn't read this blog, so sshhhhhhh! Ok?

Snowbound

There was no urgency except my body's craving for the kind of endorphins made possible by physical exertion. So I shoveled the back steps, front steps, sidewalk, and a walkway from the back door to my mother's car. The wind blew a shovelful of snow back into my face. It's a good thing my ego can handle such insults.

I took a break and headed down to Adams Street for coffee, not as easy this morning as it had been all summer, but that was the point. Navigating the snow banks was fun for a change. More people have snow blowers in this neighborhood than in my own, and I felt some envy today. But, mostly I enjoyed the clean of it, the peace of it, in spite of the machinery.

I don't think my friends at P&O or G&B were even open today. Good for them. Sadly, the tidy little neighborhood corner grocery store has been replaced by a purveyor of junk food, cigarettes, lottery tickets and beer. The possibilities for self-destruction just might be endless. Just for today, I stuck to a small sugar free gingerbread flavored coffee with light cream, and nearly finished it by the time I got home to more shoveling, and then lunch with Nana.

Later in the afternoon, the real shovel team showed up, and even cleaned off both cars. Time for another walk, just as a streak of sunlight leaked through the cloud ceiling. Welcome. This walk was longer, more roundabout and nostalgic, past the house my father's parents built in 1950. Then, past the house next door, the one they moved into in 1960. Then, back to the house my mother grew up in.

There are plenty of ways to be home.

The Cruelest Month

I love what I do, some days more than others, of course, but even after a decade, I bounce into work in the morning. I hope I have another 15 years of this left in me. It’s gratifying work, and I know I’m fortunate to have it.

No one appreciates it when someone in my profession whines. (I don’t appreciate whining period.) That said, when we let out so much as a job-related sigh within earshot of most people, three things get held against us: June, July, and August.

I've figured this much out in my ten years in this field: T. S. Eliot was off by 5 months. September, not April, is in fact the cruelest month.

Plans for Labor Day weekend? Sorry, I can't make it. Labor Day is Christmas Eve; I’m Santa Claus, and the rest of the month is a prolonged Christmas morning. Sexy problem in this economy, I know. Sorry.

Where I live, summer weather stretches well into October – minus the humidity. September in the DC metro area is my idea of heaven – shorts, sandals, sunshine, temps in the 70s and low 80s. What’s not to like? In my profession, though, September taunts. I used to love September – I was born in the middle if it, after all. And when I catch glimmers of it, I love it still. September shines in the window all cloudless and blue. But the avalanche of immediate responsibilities yanks down the room darkening shades without mercy.

Contact the parents before the darlings lose their focus. Get to know them, what they know, and how they learn best. Keep them engaged and meeting benchmarks. Build a database of new names, contact information, birthdays, and when possible, back stories. In September, I may talk to the darlings’ parents more than I talk to my own. And all Sandy and Wally want to do is wish their firstborn a happy birthday. Well, had I been born three weeks earlier, they could call with birthday wishes and maybe even see me in person on the day. As it is, I could call them back in the wee hours when I’m puzzling over a darling or a lesson. Ooh, I’ll save that idea for next year and hope it helps me then. Hang in there Mum and Dad. Know that I love you and I’ll call as soon as I turn that Columbus Day corner and catch my breath.

That Green Day song got it wrong, too. Don’t let me fall sleep until September ends; I've got too much to do.

One birthday gift from my doctor was a painful conversation about cholesterol. I can't afford to be sedentary – even though I had planned to spend September harnessed to my chair, which is tethered to my desk, which is ensconced in the windowless cinderblock microcosm known as my classroom. At least in there I’m protected from hurricane season. Still, this is the year I lower my cholesterol, so I’ve decided to read EJ and Classroom Notes Plus while a spin bike and I torture each other. (Working my behind off on a couple of levels).

Seriously, though, life is good. With most of June, and July and August to spend at my discretion, it's just time to get back to work. And September will go on without me. When you see it, please give it my love. I’ll take my glimmers of its beauty when I can. Who knows, maybe my next classroom will have a window.

Summer in the Bag

Know how I first knew the summer was over? The inside of my purse got wet from the rain, and a summer’s worth of wear had frayed the straps. I want to grieve a little bit. For me, this pocketbook represents the summer of 2010. Check out my pictures; you can see it.

At some point in the spring, I paid $12.50 plus tax for this in-your-face girly-girl vinyl hobo catch-all. Hubsy calls it my carry-on bag. He’s right; I wanted a bag big enough to hold my planner book and kindle. This one even has room for a Just-in-case ankle brace. (Long story and I promised I wouldn’t whine in this blog, but my ankles and I have a love/hate thing going on.) Anyway, I’ve done a bi-weekly bounce up and down the Northeast corridor all summer long, and this girl needs to be prepared.

My Dad teased me about the bag, but my 17 year-old sister totally gets it. This is the first conversation-starting pocketbook I’ve ever owned, and it’s hard to miss. Total strangers would stop me and compliment me on how cool it is. I would describe the color as Eighties-Bridesmaid- Blue, lined with a silky print of discreetly feminine accessories and toiletries. I can’t look at this color without smiling, and I don’t think I can completely trust anyone who can.

In early June, I made a wish list of I times I’d hoped to experience in the time I would have off. In the writing of them, the list of wishes became a list of challenges, then a series of plans. And most of those plans actually got executed.

One plan was to begin a writing project. Well, I have this blog to show for that. Two other items on the mini bucket list: cruising Narragansett Bay with Nana and kayaking with Chica. Check and check. I have three wonderful girlfriends in other states whom I never see enough of, which translated to three outings of great food, catching up, and laughing so hard I nearly shot ice tea through my nose. Clean a lot of stuff out of my mother’s basement – I’ll check that one too. Time with each of my parents – well, it wasn’t enough, but again, my disrespect for the time-space continuum gets me every summer. Some quality time with Hubsy, Sonny and Chica. Short, but sweet.

One thing that was different this summer – a tan – I actually let myself tan for the first time in decades. Just SPF 15 and dock time – Chardonnay with Hubsy and his parents – passively soaking in sunshine and browning up.

I had good times with my local girls too – an outing to the Norman Rockwell collections. I got to grill steaks with my brother, eat fish tacos with my sister, girls’ night with Faye and Chica, have lunch at Linda Greenlaw’s table, connect with my sisters-in-law, visit with my older aunts and uncles, walk along Wellfleet with Hubsy.

And I dragged that big blue carry-on to everyone one of those outings, even up Rattlesnake Trail. It’s at my feet even now (at BOS to DCA cruising altitude) as I draft this and soak in the last Chardonnay of the summer.


It was a blessed summer – a summer of wellness, family, friends, great food, art, books, writing and garden tomatoes. A summer when the nest is empty, but the baby birds are flying with humility, skill, and optimism. A summer of challenge and comfort. A summer of gratitude.

A summer of my Eighties-Bridesmaid-Blue purse. I might need to grieve a little now that it’s over.