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.
Coffee mug and water bottle go on my desk, work bag underneath. Power on my laptop, desktop, and the computer dedicated for making student ID cards. Flick on three of the five light switches. New LED lightbulbs glare like the Arctic tundra, so one gets flicked off. Power on three computers kids use to search for books. They are lined up outside, ready for me to let them in.
They know by now to wait a bit until everything is up and running and make two lines to sign in.
I quickly scan email as kids get settled in their morning chats about books, browsing their favorite sections, and swapping books that won’t make it to the book return because BFF has to have The Summer I Turned Pretty before anyone else can get it.
Subject line: Ms. S’s classes will be in the library today through 4th period
Um, no. That was yesterday. Ms. S. didn’t show up. I check my schedule. I check my calendar. I check my inbox for an email several weeks ago asking for availability. Glitch on my part. I set the wrong date.
Major glitch: I scheduled a lesson with a teacher. In the library. For today.
I email Ms. S asking if she can keep her kids in her classroom for 1st period then come down later. I send the second teacher a chat explaining my issue. Call me asap if you see this.
The line for checkouts is getting longer. I scan ID badges and books. My phone rings and I explain my mess up. “I can go to your classroom instead.”
Issue averted. Ms. S walks in, oblivious to my email as I explain myself. I gather my materials and head to the classroom.
Rush hour is an understatement. This was all in a nice, neat 30 minutes before the bell rings package.
I walk into the main office to pick up a color copy I printed from my computer. Yippee, we have to share the color printer, but keep it on the down low because the color printer for everyone else is in the downstairs teacher’s lounge and the cartridge has been out of ink for months. Sucked dry by everyone printing everything in color rather than sending it to print shop…and there I go, down my rabbit hole.
“Excuse me,” I say, as I pass between the 8th grade counselor and 8th grade assistant principal. They’re chatting and obviously not about a student because they’re in the small hallway leading to the reception area. Counselor’s eyes brighten as she sees me. “Oooh…” I hear her say. I know what that means: you’re about to get hit up for something you don’t want to do.
“Are you good at planning parties?”
“If it’s my own party, sure. If it’s a party for someone else, not so much. What’s it for?”
“Eighth grade formal,” 8th grade AP answers, “PTA is supposed to do it, but they haven’t done it in several years.”
“Do you have a theme? Or maybe you can let some of the 8th grader plan it. It’s their gig anyway, give them something to do.”
8th grade AP, sighing, “I want it to be a surprise.”
By now, Counselor and IT, with whom I meant to chat with about tomorrow’s lesson, make their way to AP’s office. I walk to the printer to retrieve my copy, hearing them run down a list of possible suggestions. I pass by AP’s office on the way back to the library. They’re all huddled over AP’s computer.
IT laughs and says, “She’s not gonna like this, wait and see. Get in here!” she summons.
Before I walk in AP’s office I know what they’re doing.
“You all put that in ChatGPT to see what it’ll spit out!”
IT knows where I stand with AI-mixed feelings. I use it, but typically struggle through my own ideas which seem to mostly run on empty.
“I knew it! Whatcha got? Ooh, you can do a muted down color scheme. A play on school colors, instead of green, black, and white, do sage, gray, and cream,” I suggest. They did ask for ideas.
“Well, we were thinking ‘A Night in Hollywood,'” AP answers.
“Wasn’t that last year’s theme?”
“No, it was a few years ago. Everything we had is gone. It just disappeared.”
“Who took it?” We all look at each other. Things disappear frequently and no one ever finds the culprit.
Counselor wonders if all the prom dresses are still in a no longer on our campus teacher’s classroom. “What happened to all of that stuff? Did she take the prom dresses with her?” No Longer On Campus Teacher collected a pile of gently used prom dresses last year for the 8th Grade Formal Boutique. Girls who may not be able to purchase a dress were free to “shop” for their items.
“No, it’s all gone,” IT replies.
“Hmm…what if you do a 90’s Hollywood theme? You know, all that is trending. Carolyn Bessette Kennedy looks, slip dresses, baby tee and long skirt formals, updos with curls piled at the top of the head, MIB-Men in Black, they’ll love it.” I’m almost getting excited for them, but not enough to volunteer to coordinate the event. Not even close.
AP and Counselor start reminiscing about a full length sequined gown. A two piece formal with a halter top. Those updos with the curls piled on top of the head. Prom dates.
“We can have teachers submit their 90s prom pictures, it’ll be so fun!” AP is gaining momentum with the theme. Counselor agrees and they’re having a great time pinging ideas between one another.
IT and I exchange looks.
“Umm, yeah,” I offer, “fun for those who went to prom in the ’90s. But some of us didn’t. go. to. prom. in. the 90s.” My voice trails…
They’re not getting it.
IT and I holler out laughing. “WE went to prom in the ’80s. Good luck with that!”
We walk out of AP’s office and get back to our regularly scheduled program.
Hi again. This is the 4th or 5th time I write to you (on my blog). I’ve had people suggest I send these letters (links) to you. Worth a try even though you may be buried in fan mail. I’d absolutely love it if you’d write back.
Thank you for writing books I needed to read when I was a kid. I’ve never forgotten them and I learned about the world in them. Looking back, I also learned about family dynamics. My parents worked long hours out of necessity. I had first born child responsibilities as a tween and teen, you know, be the little adult you’re in charge until we get one type of situation. My grandparents and extended family lived minutes away, so it wasn’t an unhealthy or awful situation, just one of those where we had some responibilities a little earlier than most kids do. Your books helped me be a teen with other teens and I enjoyed living vicariously through your characters.
My daughter and I recently re-watched Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret while she finished some homework. We both enjoyed watching it on the big screen and it was fun having it on again. She’s now older than Margaret’s character so she had a great time psychoanalyzing the family dynamics. She even offered Margaret advice through commentary about her friends and life change.
I’d love to visit your book shop some day. I’ve heard that sometimes you’re working in the shop. you are at the top of my author meet-up bucket list. I’ve been lucky to meet great authors in person, so I know it’s a possibility. If I saw you out in public I’m sure I’d go right back to my twelve year old self in excitement. If I met you in person, I think I’d cry.
Do you still get massive amounts of fan mail? I wanted to write to you years ago, but I wasn’t sure if you’d read my letter. I find myself wondering the same question now. Maybe you’ll get this. Maybe it will remain unsent. Regardless, I appreciate how your books found me.
Sincerely, a long time fan,
Ally
P.S. Is there anything you wish you would have written?
Mine. Yours. Ours. I’ve been using an official planner to keep myself organized. There was a time when my lesson planner was enough, but those days are gone. One kiddo is adulting and the other is smack dab in her teens. Hubby’s work schedule changes frequently so I have to keep track of that, too. I took a break from having said little boxes tell me what to do, but that week is over, so back to the boxes I go.
I could use the ones in my phone that will give me notifications, but said notifications get ignored. I’m a paper planner type of person with a side of phone calendar. Dates are transferred to the official keeper of time.
Keeping work at work, I focused on personal & family dates for the rest of this quarter and the next one. That takes us into summer break, and hopefully, a summer vacation. My niece turning fourteen two weeks ago launched us into birthday season. For March, it’s two friends, an aunt, a niece, and two nephews. There’s also a wedding I missed, an anniversary, and everything Lent related from our church calendar.
In April, it’s two nieces, a nephew and his mom, my sister-in-law (both on the same day), an uncle, my dad, two cousins-I might have lost count. Add Mother’s day in May, a niece’s birthday, a quinceañera, all of the extra celebrations, end of the school year shut down the library frenzy, and my parents’ anniversary.
Oh, and there’s testing. So much testing!
To plan ahead for S.’s appointments, I take a look at her testing calendar. AP exams. Uh-oh. AP exams. When are they scheduled? I poke around on the school’s testing website and find them. I pencil them in their proper calendar cells.
Then I get sucker punched to the gut. Wait. I did pay the registration for AP testing. Or was that last school year‘s World History test? Uh-oh. I check my inbox and search. It’s gotta be here, I rarely delete important information.
Sure enough, I have the testing confirmation and receipt. Calm down, heart, don’t jump out of my body. I jot down the two dates in May.
Returning to my inbox, I see the subject line: Important Info for S’s Senior Year.
It’s from the school’s photo company. Senior portrait session appointments are available for booking next fall. I start filling out the form and stop in the field to add her phone number for notifications. I don’t know her number and I’m not in the mood to check. It’s the last chunk of March. I’m working with the end of this school year’s dates.
Back to the ghost mall today. She calls to make sure what she needs is in stock as promised two days ago. A bout of insomnia last night means a late wake up for me and that means getting ready for the day long past noon.
“Are you ready?”
“Almost!”
I pick up snacky lunch dishes while she gets ready.
“Are you ready now?”
“Almost!” Antsy, I’m ready to go and return home for doing all of the things that need doing. If we don’t go now, we’ll get stuck in traffic on the way back.
“Let’s go!” I holler impatiently.
“I’m almost ready!”
“You said that two almosts ago!”
#lifewithateen
Why can’t she just answer the question with a simple yes or no?
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.
A canceled appointment led S. and me to the mall for something she wanted (and definitely didn’t need). The only place to get it is from a store at the mall. It’s almost 11:00 and the parking lot is deserted. Did we miss something? I turn a corner and find a small group of cars parked near the front doors of an anchor store. Prime real estate back in its hey-day.
We go through Macy’s bedding department. All of the beds are dull beige with lifeless and colorless bedding. They don’t look inviting. Gone are the days of wanting to curl up in a cushy and fluffy department store bed. I bypass Christmas themed super clearance dinnerware I don’t need. Someone else can get the deal. Geoffrey the Toys R Us giraffe from the kids’ toy section grins at no one, pink Barbie boxes line shelves willing kids to take a look, but there are no kids. We pass escalators that are either broken or turned off. To save energy? Who knows. We head to the front of the store that opens to the mall.
I haven’t been here in years. I missed the mark and parked on the opposite end of where we need to go. What was once an old Borders book store is open, full of giant stuffed Pokémon and other licensed stuffed toys in the windows, but more shops are caged closed with the lights off than those brightly flashing their wares. Jewelry stores. Candles. Shoes. A boutique announcing everything must go to no one but us.
Nearby escalators we planned to take are also not operational. What’s up with the escalators? We continue on, looking for people. I relay my “when I was your age” story about how spring break brought everyone who didn’t go anywhere to the mall. Even that was a treat for those who didn’t travel. We pass the food court. Every seat is available. Chick-fil-a lines snaking around tables are gone. A pretzel place is there, but most other well-known food court spaces disappeared. Pizza. Baked potatoes. Footlong corndogs. Panda Express. All gone. A shut down movie theater around the corner doesn’t send its buttery popcorn scent luring people to catch a flick.
Finding working escalators, we descend to the first floor. Gray covers robe vendorless mall carts stationed along the center walkways. No one asks us to test lotion, no cheap silver jewelry beckons us to take a look and politely decline. A mom with two littles smiles as they sit on the Easter bunny’s lap-likely the same costume used for the past thirty years-no line here either.
“That bunny is creepy.”
Formal dresses sparkle, desperately hoping for a prom queen or quinceañera to take them out of their misery and out on the town. S. doesn’t give them a second look, but if I were choosing, it would be the long emerald green one.
We arrive at the shop S. needed to find. Is this place open? It’s hard to tell. Half the lights are off, but the space is open, so we go inside.
“We’re out of stock right now,” the lone sales clerk informs us, “but our shipments come in at noon on Thursday.” We’re the only three people in the store and she she stands behind the counter as if she’s afraid to come out, peering at us, confirming we’re real people shoppers.
Wanting to take a quick look, we walk around to another anchor store. The lights are on, sign still flashing brightly, but the glass doors are closed. All inventory has been stripped, fixtures bare, but signs still advertise manly cologne.
“Let’s get out of here. This place is sad and depressing. It has really low energy, Mom, I don’t like it.”
An empty coin operated carousel offering FUN plays an odd calliope circus tune as an animatronic Build-a-Bear waves, flanked by stuffed bears, pink Peeps, bunnies, and rabbits advertising spring.
Easter bunny sits alone, the mom and her littles long gone.
***
Today, I stepped into our version of the Jasper Mall documentary.
A little before I settled in for writing, running through a mental of list of zero topics, one dropped into my phone. E, my 23 year old, started the conversation. He loves pulling pranks on me, making it difficult to know whether he’s serious or not.
ScreenshotScreenshotScreenshotScreenshot
He drove through The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. Gotta love how builders select names for subdivisions and stick to the theme. Stories manage to find their way into every part of our lives. I read about a Friends themed subdivision being built a few years ago in a nearby town. Friends in Texas.
Today may be a good day to hunker down with a good Western.
As promised, I’m tagging his tumblr post here. *language alert
Nerds Beget Nerds 