It roars like a lion and doesn’t stop. Out like a lamb? I think the lion will eat it.
I’m not much of a sports fan, but hubby watched the UT men’s basketball team make it to the Sweet Sixteen. I don’t watch because I’m afraid to jinx them, although I’m not superstitious. Weird thing though, any time I watch my alma mater play any sport, they start losing. No basketball for me. I’ll get a safe play by play as he watches.
The thing with March is…it marches, a line of 31 bass drums lined up, mallets beating to the rhythm of time. Drum, thump-thump, drum, thump-thump until we’re done, staring at April left in its sound wake.
Met up for pedis with one friend this morning and met our other friend for coffee afterward. We taught together years ago before the great split. A. went on to work as an instructional coach. About five years later, I shifted into my librarian position. C left the district to teach in a nearby district and returned as an instructional coach as well. She’s on my campus this year and I’m lucky we’re back together again, even if we don’t see each other every day as we once did.
We’ve watched our kids grow up and we’ve helped each other grow, professionally and in our friendship. Retirement is a much closer option we’re currently discussing although we’re still a few years from it. They’ll catch up to us.
My car took a few tries to start when we left the salon. A quick message: “My car isn’t starting!” followed by “Never mind. Got it.” I can’t tell if it’s the car battery or the key fob battery. Hubby and I begin bickering about it when I get home, he was called in to work a few hours early and doesn’t have time to check into it. He leaves his key fob so I can experiment and take it in to get the battery tested. Except, I don’t. I’d like to catch up on chores I’ve let slide.
S. wants to watch episode 3 of a series we started. I like to pin down any minute she’s open to hanging out with me. Last night, as we watched episode two, she fell asleep, her head on my lap. She leaned into me like she did when she was little, breathing deeply knowing I’m right there when she wakes up.
We agree to a speed clean to pick up bits of our spring break carelessness. I plan to pop in to get my slice posted and I notice the wi-fi is down. Uggg! My phone connection is slow. I troubleshoot and reset the router. Doesn’t work. I don’t have the patience to deal with calling our provider.
S. skips out announcing, “I’m ready to watch!”
“Wi-fi is down and nothing I’m doing is working. Give me a bit and I’ll see if I can get it working.”
A bit later, she changes her mind.
“Well, since we can’t watch anything, J. invited my to hang out and have dinner. Can you take me?”
It’s a nice day and I almost say she should walk to J’s, but decide to drop her off.
Arriving back home, I get my gear on and take a long walk. I found a new to me trail tucked behind a newer neighborhood. Earbuds are in, but about ten minutes into my walk, I decide to unplug. Might as well connect with sunlight and blue skies.
I’m still trying to recuperate from the time change. I’ve been living in a time warp all week. Driving in the dark when my body says Just one more hour of sleep, please! has me shaking myself back to reality. The clocks at work were never changed. I knew they were wrong all week, but I kept reading them at face value and couldn’t figure out which class period was which. Days didn’t seem to end, until they did.
Maybe I’m getting older, but this season’s time shift does not like me.
Tomorrow marks family wedding season. I won’t be able to attend an evening wedding tomorrow afternoon, but there are two more weddings on my calendar. October 2026 and Spring 2027. Other family members who live much closer will attend tomorrow and we got into a discussion about wedding gifts.
What do you get the couple who seems to have everything? Something off the registry is easy and guaranteed to be something the couple wants, but what if there isn’t a registry? Cold hard cash is easy and useful for honeymoon spending. What if it’s isn’t the first marriage? Rules have changed and I wonder what modern etiquette dictates. I could consult AI, but, nah…
Never mind. I had to check. Sure enough, contributing to a honeymoon fund or donating to a charity is acceptable for second marriages.
I once gifted a young couple a set of Nerf guns with a quirky note that said “For your first fight.” It was a bridal shower gift and the bride and groom always had a great sense of humor. A gift from their registry was also included.
They used them. One wound up with a purple welt to the leg, but they enjoyed chasing one another around the house with them.
I don’t remember all my wedding gift, but I still use my pizza stone. Mainly for baking cookies, though. Our champagne flutes are still a favorite, but I broke one when I dropped it in the sink.
What’s the strangest wedding gift you have ever given or received?
Well, not really, but I love that line from A Christmas Story, so it’s useful. Yesterday, I received a work chat that I was randomly chosen to join our library directors for a possible lunch (getting details) with middle grade author Gordon Korman at our annual library conference. “Reply by the end of the day if you want to join us, or we’ll choose someone else.”
It was 6:48 p.m. Although I don’t like to check email at home, I checked email at home and saw 4 chat notifications. Huh. I worked online all day catching up on back end tasks requiring a computer in addition to checking books out to steady streams of students who came in for more books. How did I miss them?
My internet wasn’t connecting well. It happens on cloudy days on top of the fact that the kids’ devices and non-allowed phones suck up bandwidth. I reply anyway hoping the end of the day means later than the end of the workday.
This morning, I received details. Two of us were selected to join our directors. I don’t know how many other people are invited, but I’m in! I get to have lunch with Gordon Korman at the end of the month. What a fantastic surprise. With over 100 books published, there is no way I can read them all before the big day, but I have a soft spot for Schooled.
I might be upset to change my plans this weekend, but I didn’t have any. A tough week reinforced my decision to putter around and do something. Or not. An even rougher night almost yielded a 3:30 a.m. draft, but I was able to course-correct and get back into snooze mode.
My morning walk didn’t happen either and I don’t plan to take one later. It’s a cool springy type of rainy day, allowing me to leave the back door open until the cool breeze becomes a little too much and S. exclaims that it’s just too cold! I enjoy inviting in the sound of soft rainfall, especially since there isn’t warm humid air to accompany it. That won’t be the case in a few weeks. I’ll take all I can now.
S. made her own brunch. I had coffee and cinnamon toast. Hubby is working. Cooking likely won’t happen today. We’re at the grab and go stage of life since being together for a meal is tricky.
#lifewithateen
A massage is scheduled this afternoon. Maybe I can slow down enough to catch my breath. I’m almost at the stage of life where I can care about not caring. Groceries, laundry, and piles of a busy week that needs tidying are patient enough to wait for another day.
S. walks down the stairs announcing, “I’ve decided to go ahead and get ready to start the day.”
I almost feel like a rotten egg. It has been one of those life is gonna make you earn your Friday type of weeks and I’m glad it’s over.
I’d crawl into bed already if my sheets weren’t in the dryer. I’m down to only one set of sheets and I haven’t bought a new back up set. I didn’t expect the fitted sheet from the other set to rip. They’re that old, I suppose. Sheet sets aren’t the kinds of things I buy frequently. The Costco run I’ve been putting off to buy said sheets must happen. Tomorrow.
The towels I added to the washer with the sheets will get tossed on the couch, adding more to my weekend catch-up list.
Last century, in Tiny Town, Texas, our local newspaper regularly featured the photo of a home cook and three or four of their favorite recipes. Most were the sort you’d find in a local ladies’ auxiliary plastic comb-bound publication. Some were off if you followed the recipes instead of only reading them. Misprints or typos like 1 cup of tea instead of a teaspoon of instant tea mix. 1 c. of lard instead of, well, what kind of recipe might one need with a full cup of lard?
People dressed up for their photos. Nothing like today’s influencer photos. These were studio photos with bad lighting in colorless newsprint. No highly styled foodstagram pictures either. Just the recipe and your imagination or actual ingredients and something to eat as a result.
Yesterday, in suburban central Texas, the hubster opened a last century recipe book hunting down an apple cinnamon bread recipe.
“My sister gave me the recipe. I think your mom makes it too,” he recalls as he flips through pages of handwritten recipes.
“My mom got the recipe from your sister when she was in the paper,” I announce.
“Were you ever in the paper?” he asks.
“Not for the recipes. Mainly for nerdy school stuff. Band, honor roll, the regular school activities everyone did because there was nothing else to do.”
“French breakfast puffs,” he mutters as he continues to search.
“Ha! Those were neither puffy nor Frenchy. They’re basically muffins doused in melted butter and rolled in cinnamon sugar. They’re good, but not French.” I recall getting that recipe from one of my friends who was featured when we were in high school. They were a hit with our family, French or not.
He finds the recipe, discovers we’re out of apples, pushes the recipe book aside and searches for one on his phone. Settling for cinnamon bread with pecan strudel topping, he begins mixing.
I wonder what my blurb would say if I were selected today? Impossible, since the newspaper is defunct, but it’s fun to imagine.
Better yet, hubster and I would be the first dynamic duo, breaking with a single person featured. Would each of us take a turn over two consecutive weeks or would we hang out together? He loves cooking, I prefer eating. He’s the cook, I’m the baker. Team Use Every Utensil (him) or Team Clean As You Go? Complex recipes or one pot wonders? Which recipes would we choose? Three each or three of our favorites?
Hubster’s recipes: Tx cheesesteaks on the Blackstone griddle, cinnamon rolls in an hour, carne guisada with homemade corn tortillas, refried beans, and guac.
Wifey’s recipes: Rotisserie chicken taco Tuesday extravaganza, blueberry smash margaritas, tub of salad with olive oil & balsamic vinegar-serving bowl optional. Oh, and maybe a batch of those French breakfast puffs for special occasions.
Nerds Beget Nerds 