Stormy Weather

I was in Boston over last weekend, so I missed actually seeing the record-breaking snow fall from the sky. Boy did it fall. Twenty inches of freakish preseason snow fell with a vengeance and took down trees and limbs and power lines everywhere.

What I came home to was a cold house and an eerie darkness and no plan. Thank goodness I had prepared for Irene and still had candles and flashlights on hand.

But I lucked out anyway. My power was restored within two days, unlike my parents and some close friends in the area who are without electricity--still. My sister Mary had her power restored just yesterday, as did my friend Jim, both of whom had been without since Saturday afternoon.

To say the least, it was a interesting experience: no traffic lights, grocery stores without perishable food, gas stations with hour-long waits causing traffic jams...while around the corner there might be a fully operational restaurant. Just yesterday, since school was cancelled for the week, Amy and I met for an afternoon of lunch and shopping in a town where 67% of the people are estimated this morning to still be without power. In a word, it was weird.

Although in some cases it became tragic, and people lost their lives to carbon monoxide poisoning while trying to stay warm, mostly it was an inconvenience..and, I hope, a lesson for us all on the creature comforts that we take so for granted.

Pick Me Ups

I've had a couple of bad days at work. Reeeeally bad days. Which happen to have nothing to do with my students, or my classes. And, in full disclosure, it's not been a very good month for me to begin with. October is Breast Cancer Awareness month, and that means every day this month, at least once a day, I have seen something pink and/or heard a news story that reminds me of Donna. More specifically I am reminded of the fact that we lost Donna despite the ribbons and walks and everything pink. Not that I don't think of her a lot anyway. I have my own set of known triggers that make me miss her terribly; I'm fine without any more.

But back to the last couple of days that left me in need of some retail therapy.

I would have gone last night, but all I could do was cry--meaning I could not stop crying and was not fit for being in public. (Even this morning I could have used a couple of extra hours with cold compresses.) But today, after making it through the day without crying, I rewarded myself with a few simple things.

dish towels that make me happy

new fuzzy socks

and cold sesame noodles that are better than any I make

 Now I'm just left to wonder what to make of this fortune that came with them...

Photo Journal: Fall Football Sunday

fuzzy socks required

vodka sauce with sausage



enjoyed while watching the Patriots...win!



A Little Variety

When I started teaching I thought I had found a perfect situation: autonomy in my classroom and a boss who didn’t micromanage. Who couldn’t really, right? Alas, school is not much different from business after all these days: teachers are being asked to do more and more with less time, resources or rewards; leadership lacks and so, as is often the case, micromanagement abounds. It’s only October and already I’ve been frustrated enough at school to engage in blood pressure-raising conversations and vitriolic exchanges with Amy, and to wonder with her in calmer moments what other jobs we could do that would pay about the same so we can maintain our lifestyle (which is by no means lavish, but what we are comfortable with). The other day I said to her, “if I could stand other people’s bodily fluids I’d register for a nursing program right now.”

Without any other employment plans in place, and too early to pray for snow days for temporary reprieve, we do what we can to feel better about things. Recently, this meant joining a few other colleagues to support the drama program at our school and our friend Bill who runs it. We agreed to be involved in a teacher variety show. Bill and I wrote a skit—a hysterical classroom parody, if I may say so myself—that other teacher-friends, including Amy, acted. Other teachers shared their musical talents—playing instruments or singing—or their good nature and were simply willing to get on stage for a laugh. Some students spoofed teachers; others ran the technical aspects of the show.

For a few afternoons I left my classroom and escaped to the auditorium where I spent a few hours laughing, observing, and being a part of something creative and positive. I experienced a camaraderie that was uplifting. I walked away with newfound or rejuvenated respect for some of my colleagues and students. I came to understand better the pull of the stage that so many of our students feel. And I was inspired—again—by Bill’s commitment to his program and to those kids who shine on stage.

So Friday night, when I joined a full house of students and parents and teachers (some retired) and spouses of teachers, who came to show their support and were entertained for an evening (were we ever!) in exchange, those hours I laughed and applauded were only a bonus.

[Heart] Note...to Michaels

In the world of arts and crafts, I consider myself more arts than crafts, but I suppose that’s parsing words. Whether artsy or crafty, there’s no place like Michaels to wake up my creative side.

I’ve gone in for a frame and come out with the makings for a centerpiece. I’ve gone in for a candle and come out with beads for bracelet. Once I went in for a basket and came out with fuzzy socks. You get the idea: you name it, they’ve got it—from mats and frames to vases and baskets and candles and beads and silk flowers and ornaments and stocking stuffers. Sometimes they even have spa socks.

Michaels inspires me to celebrate the seasons and make my house look prettier, to be more thoughtful and generous and creative and alive.

Obviously, I’ve been secretly in love with Michaels for a while, but last time I was there I saw a big sign out front announcing a 15 % Teacher Discount. Bonus! And yesterday I found out they are partnering with The Ellen DeGeneres show to donate to Susan G. Komen for the Cure during Breast Cancer Awareness month. Well, the secret’s out now. There’s no turning back. I [heart] Michaels loud and proud.

Deli-Issues

There is a commercial on TV that begins with two inmates escaping from prison who then proceed to have a string of bad luck and poor service—getting haircuts, buying clothes, taking public transportation. The final scene shows them running back to prison. It’s an ad for Car Max and it’s as clever as it rings true. Especially at the deli.

I love a good sandwich, and lately I’ve been bringing sandwiches for lunch. They’re easy, portable, and healthy—especially when I top them with lettuce for crunch, onion for zing, tomato slices because my mom is still supplying them, and sometimes a sprinkle of sliced olives on top. But the toppings are the easy part; getting the meat is the hard part—even at my new favorite supermarket.

In full disclosure I did cop an attitude once on a young man who seemed clearly inconvenienced to have to open a new prosciutto for me and incapable of getting it tissue paper thin. Aside from that time I have been nothing but pleasant to anyone who helps me. (And subsequent to that visit, I have been nice to him.) Everyone is nice in return.

But pleasant is not really what I’m after. I’m looking for someone who understands that when I want a third of a pound, it means .33 on the scale. And when I ask for a half pound, and the scales shows .67—it’s not a little over, so no, it’s not okay. It’s closer to ¾ of a pound, and I ordered only ½ a pound. Those are decimals, people, not ounces.

I want not to feel bad when I order only a quarter pound of roasted turkey. I live alone. Especially when I’m buying two types of meat, I don’t need a lot each. And as far as I’m aware, there is no deli minimum, so do your job. If all I want is three slices, you should do it without the sigh. And stop trying to get away with thick slices so you have to cut fewer of them. When I say sliced thin, and you show me something thick enough to dice on a salad, I’m going to say no, thinner, please. And now I know that I should ask to see the second slice, too--because that half pound of ham in my fridge seems more like shoe leather than deli meat.

I know there are worse things in life than a bad sandwich, but that's not really the point. These days it's hard to find good customer service --any way you slice it.

Photo Journal: Back Bay Getaway



Lord & Taylor



Stephanie's on Newbury



John Hancock tower, behind Boston Public Libraray