Favorite Things

Inspired by Tammy’s post, here are my top five things I’d bring to a Favorite Things Party to share around a fire.

Archer and Olive notebooks. I even researched paper weight on the quest for the perfect notebook. Trying different brands, this one is my favorite. Size B5, but currently working in an A5 and A6. Definitely a splurge, but worth it.

Sanders Dark Chocolate Sea Salt Caramels. My kids claim to dislike dark chocolate. I bought a tub at Costco several years ago, not worried they’d eat them. Of course, on the occasion I wanted one, I found the jar more than halfway empty. When I buy them, I take them to work. There’s a cabinet in my office for teachers where I keep a stash of chocolate for them. Non-dark chocolate eaters have converted to the dark (chocolate) side. I imagine these will make delicious adult-level s’mores to pair with a nice glass of red wine.

Corral boots. I’m a native Texan and I only got my first pair of boots two years ago on a trip to Ft. Worth. These are comfortable enough to wear all day. Surprisingly, they don’t make my legs or feet sweat when I wear them through hot summer days. I like wearing them with shorts or dresses. Sugar skulls are a bonus.

Palmer’s lip balm. I have it everywhere: my purse, work bag, nightstand, desk drawer. It’s oval shaped and slides on well with no stickiness.

Stickers! I’m a child of the 80s and had a sticker collection. I bought a kids sticker subscription from Pipsticks for my daughter’s tenth birthday. I promised a full year. When the year ended, I kept it for myself. I plan to cancel, but I get fun snail mail once a month in shiny holographic envelopes. What’s not to love? I re-purposed the envelopes and used the stickers to make buttons I give away to kids at school. You can have your sticker and wear it, too. Anyone want to trade?

Crane Flies

“D-A-A-A-A-D!”

She knows better than to holler for me. I won’t budge.

“There’s a BUG in my bathroom and I can’t get ready! They’re all over the place. Help me now, please!”

“It’s just a mayfly, they’re harmless…”

“But they’re ugly, I want it out. Ahhhh, there’s another one, where are they coming from?”

On it goes, back and forth. He gets to her bathroom and they’ve magically disappeared.

“I can deal with insects, outside, where they belong, but inside? They’re awful,” she exclaims.

I’ve been sweeping dead ones that bounce in when we open the front or back doors. They flit and bounce around, looking like they want to come inside. I try to move them aside, but some sneak in regardless. Occasionally, I’ll catch one and put it back out, but two more sneak in.

I mis-identified these insects. They’re called crane flies. We’re in the sweet spot of crane fly season. Resembling Texas-sized mosquitoes, they’re harmless and tickle your arm if they get close. They seem to hover, rather than fly, unsure of knowing whether they want to befriend or scare us. I don’t care much if they come inside, but if I can keep them out in favor of calmer mornings, I shoo them away, letting them live their happy little fluttery crane fly lives outdoors.

Barn Dance

Dancing the Cotton-Eyed Joe was my favorite, not because I could do the simple line dance without tripping over my feet or because I liked country music. It was my favorite because I got to freely holler–BULL-SHIT!–at the top of my lungs without cowering at my little silent angel self who sat on my right shoulder coaching me into possible sainthood.

My little devil self who sat on my left shoulder jabbed her pointed little tail and pitchfork into me in time to the music. And she made me laugh. And told me it was okay to let loose and have a good time.

Little angel self firmly kept little devil self in check that wouldn’t allow her to go past that dance. No beer. No wine coolers. No running around with the wrong crowd after hours. I mingled with some of them, but veered off in a different direction once my dose of fun expired. When the clock neared midnight. Well, 10:30 or 11:00, and long before I had half a chance to lose a golden slipper that resembled a knock off penny loafer, here came my ride. Usually my mom, I saw her car’s headlights coming up the driveway.

First one to get picked up, unless my friend T was allowed out of the house. Her parents were worse than mine. She wasn’t here tonight so there I go, embarrassed at being the one to leave first.

I have to go!

I say goodbye to my friends and the music, just as the fun gains momentum and my confidence started taking off. I look wistfully behind my shoulder heading toward the car, wondering about the stories I’ll hear Monday morning.

I’m Cooking!

Sunday morning
communing 
with pen and notebook
three pages,
one is done

she bounds downstairs
only in the way
a teenage girl
can bound
bending down
loving on the puppy 
resting at my feet

like a puppy
switches her brain switches
in an instant
"Okay, hear me out,
just hear me out"

I don't know what's
coming
a feral cat hiss with 
a puff of fire breathing
dragon 
flames?

she continues her 
philosophical and
theological 
conversation
asking questions
confirming views
questioning others

"I feel closer to God...
(or is it GOD or god?)
now that I've distanced 
myself
I mean, 
how can someone commit
to something so
important and
life changing when 
they're so young?
this is a big thing, 
more important than 
college
or 
marriage
and we have to make this kind 
of decision
when we're 
young?

She steps back,
surprised I didn't 
jump in

"I'm cooking!
I'M COOKING!"

Yes, yes you are
keep at it, feisty one
keep at it

Cereal Crunchers

Give ’em a bunch of Cap’ n Crunch so it will scratch off the roofs of their mouths…

“Ahh! Cap’ n Crunch! Who still eats that and why does it hurt to eat it?”

We never got Cap’ n Crunch. We had to settle for government issued King Vitamin. Those did the same thing though, but they’re not nearly as sweet as Cap’ n Crunch.

On we go discussing childhood memories of favorite breakfast cereals. Froot Loops. Toucan was my favorite cereal mascot. It’s the closest to the jungle I could get, reading the back of the box finding the hidden images in the puzzle without checking them off as I found them, milk turning gray. I’m not giving away the answers to my two younger sisters and bratty lactose-intolerant brother, although I’d take a peek at the solution turning the box upside down.

On second thought, maybe Tony Tiger is my favorite. Frosted Flakes were a special treat. Otherwise, we relied on generic corn flakes, add your own sugar. Add it we did, but it didn’t work well as it wound up in a thick layer in the bottom of the bowl after the milk was slurped. Sometimes I added sliced bananas, but overall, it qualified as grown-up cereal. There was a recipe we used to make sweet, gooey peanut-butter bars with too many boxes. In that case, they were grrrreat!

Lucky Charms were fun, without the milk. Anyone else pick out the “lucky charms?” I din’t like hard, shriveled marshmallows, but they were cute. The cereal, re-shaped Alpha-Bits, were tasty. Speaking of Alpha-Bits, I could never scoop up a full word on my spoon. Why were the letters always broken? The magic of television.

Fruity Pebbles were okay, but the best ones were chocolate. Who wouldn’t want chocolate milk after all the crunch was gone?

Honey Nut Cheerios were always so much better than regular, until I started buying them for my kids. Three plain Cheerios on the high chair tray kept them occupied while I cooked dinner, until they perfected the pinscher grasp and began grabbing them by the fistfuls. Three little oat circles were never enough.

I rarely eat cereal now. Occasionally, I’ll crave a bowl of Frosted Flakes, but never enough to warrant buying a box of it. If we have granola, I’ll crunch on a small amount with coconut milk. We have a box of Honey Nut Cheerios on top of the fridge. I don’t remember the last time it was opened. It’s probably stale by now.

Saturday morning cartoons and a bowl of cereal has been replaced with a cup of coffee and a list of too many things to do.

Backyard Drafting

The dogs have the zoomies. I said only one was allowed to hang out with me. Spotify playlist is trying to soothe me. Cars zoom by too loud, in a rush to get out of town or cutting through the neighborhood to avoid traffic.

The wind has picked up, hard. “It’s the cold front coming in from the north,” my husband says. Wind pushes and shoves it’s way through tree tops. Chimes clang helplessly from neighboring yards. A little insect finds my screen. Strands of fallen oak pollen, like tinsel, cling to my sweater sleeves.

The kitchen needs cleaning from dinner.

Jack Johnson sings how “it’s always better when we’re together,” but I disagree. Not tonight. Not right now.

It’s a little early, but once that kitchen is clean, I’m getting in my pjs. I have piles of new books and I’ll choose the newest one, A Book That Loves You. The alarm will take a ten day break.

I’m getting out of this cold wind. Backyard drafting isn’t working.

Like a colicky baby, writing is fussy today,

What’s Inside

My car?
a roomier version of a 
purse
or backpack
Front seat holds
a stack of new books
I've got first dibs,
but only if I can't find kids 
who want 
to read them first

Folded windshield sunshades
(needed all year 
in Texas)
stuffed between said seat 
and console
where there's a stack 
of empty gift cards
a prayer card
a green rosary
S. made
two years ago
a work badge
on a floral pink lanyard

On the back seat floorboard
rests a recycled grocery tote bag
full of recycled grocery tote bags
another bag still holds 
black velvet flats
a blue tulle skirt
white tights
a black satin sash
black leather sneakers
and a long, blonde wig
from last month's 
comic con event

Somewhere underneath
those bags
is a black drawstring backpack
donning a half marathon logo
eight years past
a rolled up yoga mat
three pairs of sunglasses

In the way back
sit three bags 
of outgrown clothes
(mine)
meant for a thrift store
I pass every day
on my way home
remembering they're back there
as I pass the light

I'll drop everything off 
tomorrow

But First, Coffee

Second cup of coffee hour arrives. Taking the bait on my Starbucks app, I place an order for a BOGO offer: one iced flat white for my friend, and a cinnamon caramel cream cold brew, light on the caramel, for me.

I place my order.

This location is not accepting orders.

I was almost *that* person who would’ve tried to go inside.

Okay, fine. I’ll choose another location.

I arrive and for some odd reason, one side of the driveway is blocked. I head toward the drive through only there aren’t many cars in line. Correction: There aren’t any cars in line. There’s a sign on a cute blackboard, written in chalk markers, telling me the location is being remodeled and will re-open March 10th.

I pull into a parking spot to check my order. Where did it go? Did it even go through? Wi-fi is spotty at work. I completely ignored the construction around me. Around here, it’s normal.

Off to a third location. I did not plan on this taking so long. I’m hoping it’s there. The barista brings my order and all is well. Not to self: don’t order anything while distracted.

While waiting for our staff meeting to start this afternoon, I decide I’m not in the mood for cooking dinner after my kiddo pings me to ask what we’re having.

I open up my pizza app…

2:36 a.m.

24 minutes before my normal 3:00 a.m. wide-awake-can’t-go-back-to-sleep time. The microwave door slams shut. Beeps. The door opens and shuts again. Whirs. Beeps. Open…

What in the world is she making? Clatter continues in the kitchen. Reeses barks. The back door opens. Shuts. He’s running around outside barking at whatever it is that called him out there.

I kick the covers off. Why didn’t I turn on the fan last night? Flipping the pillow over to the cool side, I put it on top of my head. Turn to my left side and hug it instead. There goes the microwave again.

Walking to the kitchen, the light is on. There’s a jar of Nutella on the counter. She’s still in her clothes from yesterday. What are you doing?

Stupid question. She’s clearly eating.

“I’m hungry,” she exclaims as she wrestles the plastic seal off a new tub of chocolate ice cream. Her makeup still looks fresh.

You sound like Grandpa warming his coffee when he comes to visit. You will NOT do this again. Be sure to clean up because I don’t want to walk into a messy kitchen when I get up in a few hours.

“I will, I will, I was just a ‘lil hungry,” she reassures me only as teens do.

I go back to bed and summon sleep. Come back, please, I wasn’t done with you yet. Another toss. Slow breathing. No covers except for tucking in my feet.

Bark! Bark-bark!

I must be the only person in the house hearing Reeses asking us to let him in. Waiting doesn’t help. I get up once again. The kitchen is dark. He pads back in but I’m not nice enough to let him upstairs to cuddle with her.

Back to bed. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

Weeding-As in Books

I have a trio of girls who pop in most days at 1:50. Friday, I worked the realistic fiction section. New books arrived and shelf space is tight. Plus, there are titles older than the girls that must go. They asked about the plethora of books spilling over the book cart.

“What do you do with them?”

I explained the process of offering them to other libraries in our district. After that, I offer them to classroom teachers. Some go to our Pop Up Library for summer reading. These three are voracious readers.

“Mind if we take a peek?”

“Go right ahead.”

The pull of the puzzle they had been working on was stronger. “Maybe Monday. We have plenty of books checked out right now.”

We discussed books that were mis-labeled. “Yeah, Mrs. Garza, just look at that cover. It definitely belongs in the romance section.” They continue with the puzzle. I continue pulling books for consideration. Do they stay? Do they go? What’s the copyright date? When was the last time they were checked out? I set aside the mis-labeled books. I’ll get to them later.

Today, I went through the pile. I happened to be working on them when a student from the yearbook class needed help identifying students for the yearbook’s library page. Sure enough, it’s the trio. I confirmed names and made sure each name matched the correct person. Almost on cue, they walked in and I had them check the photo. The yearbook student finished up and went back to class.

“Can we make Taylor Swift bracelets today?” They all nod in agreement.

I’m keeping them posted on the books in question from Friday. I hold up one book with an old-ish looking cover. “Last call. Any of you want to read this?”

“I’ll take it,” one replies.

“It’s on the old side,” I warn.

“It’s okay. If it’s a romance, I’ll probably like it.”

I hand check it out and hand it over. I pull it up to investigate more details about the book, And Both Were Young. “Wait, did you see it’s by Madeleine L’Engle? She’s the author of…”

“A Wrinkle in Time! I loved that book.”

“Really? I’ve broken up with that book so many times. I couldn’t get past the Mrs. Whatsit and all the others. The Mrs. for the characters drove me crazy. Of course, it’s a form of respect for adults, so that’s how people were addressed even if they weren’t your teachers, but I just couldn’t ever finish that book. And the tuna fish sandwich. They make tuna fish sandwiches in the story and I can just smell it, why couldn’t it be a pbj?”

“Mrs. Garza, you didn’t read it just because of a tuna fish sandwich?”

“Well, yeah, I guess so. I tried reading it so many times because people said how great it was. I tried reading it to my fourth graders years ago. They zoned out, so we didn’t finish it. I took my daughter to watch the movie, the one with Oprah, and she wanted a copy of the book. We got one with an updated cover. I started reading it to her and then she just took off with it and finished it on her own. To this day I have yet to read it.”

“You should try again.”

“I think I will. Let me know how that one is when you’re done though.”

They continue with their bracelet making. I pitch another romance book and check it out to another girl. Then I take a look at all of Madeleine L’Engle’s books.

I will try again, maybe over a tuna fish sandwich.