When the universe sends us messages of encouragement, the least we can do is take notes and share them with loved ones. With love and appreciation to my "Cinco Peeps," who all know who they are:
According to my fortune cookie:
• I should be able to make money and hold on to it;
• The days I work are the best days;
• Working hard will make me live a happy life.
According to my fortune cookie:
• When I hurry, I cannot walk with dignity;
• If I am afraid to shake the dice, I will never roll a six;
• I have a yearning for perfection.
According to my fortune cookie:
• I should take calculated risks,
which is quite different from being rash;
• There is a true and sincere friendship between us both;
• There is an airplane in my future.
According to my fortune cookie, I am the crispy noodle
in the vegetarian salad of life.
Lissa "Crispy Noodle" Hanson
Friday, June 10, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
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.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
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?
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?
Monday, December 27, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
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.
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.
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