Slice of Life: A Game of Catch

   On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

 

I walked down the hall this afternoon to check my mailbox, and I overheard an interaction between a teacher and a student. The kind that sometimes happens at the end of the day, maybe more often toward the end of the week than  on a Tuesday. The kind that happens when a student says or does one more thing than frayed teacher nerves can handle. I didn't mean to hear or listen. I just did. 

When I walked back toward my office, a student-- my guess was the nerve-frayer-- was in the hall bouncing a tennis ball against the wall. I stopped and tossed it back and forth with him. I'm not sure I should have. Was it positive reinforcement for bad behavior? Maybe. But he's a kid I've watched move through the grades worrying teachers. 

We kept tossing the ball back and forth, and he was impressed with the different ways I could catch. He's a wide receiver on the football team, and I think he's pretty good, so his compliments meant something. Catching's important to him. He's been in trouble a lot with his dad, so he was worried about the call home that his teacher had promised before she had him leave class and hang out in the hallway. We talked about whether he might be in less trouble if he broke the news to his dad before the phone rang. He thought maybe. 

Tonight I'm thinking about him. Tomorrow, I'll check in. 

Slice of Life: Solidcore Newbies

  On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

 

Late this afternoon, I texted Betsy and Sharyl, wondering if either of them had gotten sorer as the day progressed. (I had.) My daughters have spent the day chuckling at my reports of sore hamstrings, buttocks, traps, abs, and obliques. Yep, the ground has seemed a lot farther away today than it usually does. 

"That's Solidcore for you," one of them remarked. 

Right. 

After months of talking about it, my colleagues and I went to our first class together on Sunday afternoon. To be fair, I've gone a few times with said daughters, but going with experienced chaperones and going with other novices are two different things, even when the class is touted as an introductory one. 

The first challenge was registering. We got through that. (To be honest, I kept expecting one of them to find an excuse to back out. Talking about doing this was very different than actually doing it.) 

Challenge 2: The three of us arrived at the studio, and they cheered me on as I found the door code in a string of texts. Done. 

And Challenge 3: Then, entering the code in order to get into the locked studio door. I'm proud to report that I pushed the door open before the girl behind the desk made it over to let us in, but it was a close call. 

Note: There had already been a lot of challenges, and the class hadn't started... 

We navigated our way into the room and commandeered three-- what do you call them?-- machines? stations? reformers? (torture devices???)---

The music came on, Emily the instructor welcomed us, and we were on our way to completing our 50-minute class, along with thirteen other Solidcore newbies. 

Since I was the instigator, I was relieved that the overall consensus was positive as we walked to the car after class. And yes, we're going back. But maybe not tomorrow since today, I'm still a little sore to the touch. 

Slice of Life: Hoping to Remain Anonymous

 On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

 

I'm always happy to meet with teachers and talk about writing. I am not as happy to navigate the parking lots any of the elementary schools at drop-off time. Usually I park strategically when I have before-school meetings, but I forgot about that wise strategy yesterday morning. Yes, I've been at this work for several (okay, maybe more than several) years, but it was my first before-school meeting this year, and I was catching up with a friend when I pulled into the school. Those are two good excuses. 

In any case, it could have been that every child in the school was a drop-off yesterday morning, so backing out of my parking spot involved people walking behind me, cars pulling along between them, and an occasional car trying to snake by the line of child-dropping-off-mobiles. Not a good combination. I quarter-inched out, checking my rear-view mirror, the back-up camera, and swiveling all the way around, as well, until I finally had room to pull forward and not knick the car next to me. Going forward felt much safer, until... 

As I concentrated on not hitting any stray pedestrians, I didn't pay attention to the bus that was crossing my path to head to the bus drop-off on the other side of the school. In any other driving situation, the right of way was mine, so I was surprised at his left turn in front of me, his (very) loud and long horn directed at me, and his angry hand gestures that continued even after I mouthed and demonstrated a sincere apology. I'm hoping the children on the bus weren't also surprised at the words their driver may have uttered. 

I'm still waiting for one of those bus riders to approach me in a hallway! Hopefully, I'll make it through the week, and that dumb car driver will maintain anonymity. 

Slice of Life: A New Project

On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

 

Last week, I started a new knitting project. Usually, I'm pretty good with interpreting directions. Usually, I can envision how the piece should look. Usually, I cast on and get started... 

This new project did NOT follow my "usuallys". 

For my first try, I cast on, recognizing exactly where Jojo, the designer, was describing. But, I did not have the stitch markers she called for. No problem, Jojo, I thought to myself. I know what pearls and knits look like. I don't need those markers. 

Turns out I did. 

For my second try, I cast on, added the markers, and thought I understood how to wrap and turn from the youtube video I watched several times. And I watched another video on how to do end end-of-row cast-on. I completed a few rows, but it did not look the way I knew it should, and the numbers weren't coming out right. Knitting is a mathematical activity. 

For my third try---yes... my THIRD try... I called for help. My neighbor, Ellyn, is my go-to person for putting completed projects together. She's always said to call her if I have questions, and I've always been good at figuring things out. For my third try, Ellyn stood by as my knitting coach. 

Together, the two of us deciphered Jojo's directions, and Ellyn went home, but even then, the numbers were off. So yes, I pulled it all out YET AGAIN, and started over. 

My fourth take is well on its way.

An experienced knitter may spot a mistake, but I'm not telling where it is, and no one will spot it in the finished project. 

Life lessons always emerge from knitting projects-- it's incredible to make something where you have literally touched every single stitch, and it's an activity that always helps me justify car rides, TV shows, or sitting around, especially important this year since my one little word is time. 

Hoping there will be no more needs to rip and start again! 

Slice of Life: Making Coffee From Hay

   On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

 

During the summer, I share a home near the beach with my husband's brother and his family. Sharing a home with ten other people (and usually more because lots of guests cycle in and out) poses challenges. This morning three of us gathered in the kitchen waiting our turn for the coffee maker. 

"This coffee maker is tough to predict," Paul announced as he denounced his coffee. 

I was next. The water bin was almost empty... and so was the coffee bean compartment. 

His wife cracked up as I filled the water and the beans. "Paul thinks it's like Rumpelstiltskin," she said. "Gold from hay and coffee from air."

My coffee was fine, and so was Paul's when he redid his with water and beans. 

Slice of Life: A Rotten Apple (Experience)

  On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

 

I thought it would be an easy appointment at the Genius Bar. My daughter left her Airpod case on the plane last Thursday night, and she needed a replacement. Since I had a mall return, I offered to take care of that purchase. 

The (very) young-looking tech support, Sean, worried me when he tried to help. 

"These are two different Airpods," he said. "One is first generation, and one is second generation."

"They're pretty new," I countered. "We bought them here within the last month. And there's not really any way my daughter could have mixed them up."

I texted her to make sure.

"I'm feeling a little accused here," I said. "The two airpods that are here with me now are the SAME two airpods we walked out with on June 25, so it seems like the error is the fault of Apple."

Long story short... They charged me $100 for the replacement case and another $89 for a matching Airpod for me to bring her a match. After over an hour, I did not have any more time to spend there if I wanted to get home (an hour away) and send Julia back to medical school with a functional Airpod, something she needs to have in order to listen to her lectures. I voiced my story opinion annoyance fury WRATH as professionally and calmly as I could both at the store to Sean, Jordan the Manager, and a couple of on-line Apple people I called as I drove home. 

"I don't want to hear that you understand my frustration," I heard myself say, "but that doesn't solve the issue of this costing me $89 more than it should have." 

"You'll have to go back to the store," Josh the on-line supervisor said on repeat. 

And yes, we'll have to go back to the store, because the case and Airpod they sent me home with was STILL the incorrect one. (I honestly can't make this up.)

My blood pressure is rising, even as I write this post. Maybe tomorrow I'll chuckle at it. And hopefully someone reading this will chuckle... For now, I'll contemplate my next move in what has been so far, a rotten Apple experience. 

Slice of Life: A Seal's seaside stroll

 On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

 

"Is that a seal?" Amy asked. 

The three of us were sitting on the beach enjoying the inconsistent warmth of a late May afternoon. I swiveled my head toward the ocean, just in time to see the seal's head duck under the rolling waves. 

Along the beach, distant dots of people continued with their conversations and castles, oblivious to the quiet creature lolling through the water along the strip of gentle sea that exists just before waves begin to break. Maybe the seal was curious about the human activity along the stretch of sand. Maybe the seal had a destination or a friend to meet. In any case, he or she surfaced again and again before disappearing into the deeper waters. 

We don't often see seals along the Rhode Island shore, and I'm not thrilled to have them showing up since they are food for sharks. 

However, in that moment, tucked into the weekend when we welcome summer, planning and preparing for all of its possibilities, we found fun watching the seal stroll the shore as if it also was welcoming summer along with us.