Degree of Difficulty

  

Riding a Zamboni has probably been the most difficult single thing that I've tried to make happen. There is clearly some top-secret Zamboni union I needed to break into. I've met several people who've said, "My cousin cleans the ice during Winter Wonder Fest at Navy Pier." or at Maggie Daley Park, or somewhere else, however, it never materialized. I finally reconnected with someone I'd worked with years ago and remembered his sons played hockey. He tried to arrange something from August 2022 and it took until June 2023 before it could happen. 

The experience, itself, was so much better than I thought it would be. I asked Patrick, my driver, about 75 questions. The machines cost about $140-$180k. The one we were on was about 40 years old. There are two augers on it, one is parallel to the ice and scrapes it, and the other is perpendicular and lifts the scraped ice into the front "dump truck" part. Then, hot and cold water is spread in a thin layer.

I loved every second of it.

A Week of Thursdays

Thursdays are days of great hope and anticipation. Thursdays indicate that I have survived another week of what the world has thrown at me if I can just make it a few more hours until Friday.

Every day last week I awoke and thought, "thank god it's Thursday." Alas, it took three more "wake-ups" to get to Thursday, and one more to get to Friday. I honestly believe it was the most difficult week of my entire life. 

I have a better-than-average support system. I have a dog willing to lay low with me. I am incredibly lucky to be employed and have the flexibility to work from home right now. I know myself and I practice good self-care. And, when Thursday finally arrived, my husband accidentally knocked the coffee carafe into the sink and broke it. That, which could have been the tipping point for me, was saved by Amazon next day delivery.

A Thanksgiving to Remember

This school year has been unusual for a number of reasons. Both kids were away at school for the first time. I started out the year working from home. Then in October, I was working in person in the mornings some days, but at home in the afternoons. Then things changed again when during the second week of November, one of my own was sent home, as the campus was closing early for Thanksgiving due to a COVID outbreak in the state. 

An hour into the car ride home she received a phone call that she'd tested positive. That phone call sparked an array of others to employers, spouses, siblings, children, roommates, doctors, and health departments. We, my mom, daughter, and I, had four more hours in the car to figure out what essential items were needed, and where they needed to be moved, for the 14-day quarantine rodeo. 

When we got my girl settled in her new isolation room, and my mom and I settled into our new digs, I turned to my mom and said, "The next two weeks are going to determine when I put you in a home." I have to admit, she was very well behaved. 

While I Zoomed, mom wrote her Christmas cards, watched The Great British Baking Show, The Crown, and Schitt$ Creek. My girl slept, did some school work, and slept some more. Neighbors dropped off groceries, fuzzy socks, Tanqueray, and bourbon. By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, my girl was "sprung" from her life of isolation, and could help us prepare a feast for three, that would have fed nearly eight times as many, and we had just a couple more days of lockdown. 

Ultimately, it was just what my soul needed. I will probably never again have two weeks of uninterrupted time with my mom, while our faculties are still mostly functioning. It gave my mom a break from my dad, who has been in pain and crabby and not sleeping, thus, tired and short-tempered towards whoever is around him, since late summer. And, my dad a break from my mom who has been trying to balance being helpful and giving him space in their tiny "starter" home they bought in 1970.  

It also provided my daughter the opportunity, at least the last few days, to be around her favorite person ever, Grandma Judy. She said to me once recently, "I know someday that you and dad and Gagi and everyone is going to die, but Judy is never going to die. She is going to live forever." Although unlikely, I hope so too.

If My Baby Sister is 50...

Nearly a year ago, in February 2020, I was surreptitiously sewing and dyeing fabric for beach cover-ups. My baby sister had turned 50 in December, and nine women planned a trip to Puerto Rico to celebrate. Seventeen months prior, Puerto Rico was hit by a category 5 hurricane causing $90 billion dollars in damage which devastated the island. Trump, famously and horrifically, flew to the island 13 days later and was filmed throwing rolls of paper towels out at reporters and people.

It took 11 months for electricity to get restored to the island, and when we arrived six months after that, there was still visible destruction to houses, beaches, and vegetation. We stayed in a different house than originally planned, as the previous one was still not liveable. We were right on a narrow beach. There was an incessant rooster, street dogs roaming around, and not an offspring or responsibility to be found. 

I am not a planner. I am 100% fine with a cup of coffee and a book almost anywhere. If you like to do things, know about the culture, see the sites, "adventure it up", go with my friends. On the refrigerator was a piece of paper per day which included any reservations, important events, and arrival/departure information that was necessary.

We ate mofongo, a local dish made with plantains and no small amount of garlic, and drank our fair share of mojitos. Although we did many things together, we also did many things separately as well.

We did tours of a coffee plantation and a rum distillery. We went on a bioluminescent tour, where we found out that one of our group is afraid of bats. We took a boat trip out to reefs and went snorkeling. We went zip lining. We bought matching platform sandals at a mall. We had a caterer bring dinner to us at the house. We put together a playlist of our favorite girl songs. We had Salsa Dance class given by cute Ricky, and had a massage therapist set up shop on our open-air patio. We sat on the beach, played games, listened to music, and ate. Best of all, we got to spend time together.

Most of these women live locally, although some do not. We have Zoomed, safely socially distanced ourselves in back yards, have used the USPS with fervor, and have recently begun planning 2022 in Costa Rico.

I landed on Tuesday

I spent President's Day Weekend out of town with a friend. I got to the airport by noon, all flights I tried to get on were delayed, changed, re-changed and suffered from mechanical problems. Ultimately, the flight was so delayed that snacks were handed out while we were still sitting at the gate. Once in the air, the booze was free. While other passengers walked up and down the aisles, stood, sat, and complained, I read a book, worked on a crossword, and enjoyed quiet time.

Although I left on Monday, I landed on Tuesday.

That same Tuesday, my mom left her home to drive to MI and join my dad for some much needed time away. She had been sitting vigil at my grandma's bedside 8 - 12 hours a day since both of my grandma's arms were broken in October. Mom had been wiping her eyes, applying her lipstick, and spoon feeding her for months. In December, after a middle of the night ambulance ride to the ER, we called hospice. At 102, if my grandma had a heart problem, cancer or psychosis, we were not going to treat it.

That same day, about 11:00 am, I received an email from the principal of my children's high school. A student had been struck by a car, midday, while crossing the street to enter the school building. The student was doing everything right, whereas the driver was not.

So now, just over a week later, there is a funeral for the student today and I am giving my first eulogy on Sunday. Our hearts are broken.

Mixology

Annually, I work to perfect a "new" (or new to me) beverage. It becomes the beverage of the year.

I start in late spring and work on proportions, ingredients and taste throughout the summer. By fall, it is damn near perfect. Most involve vodka, as gin and I had a bad evening in the late 80's and have not been close bed-fellows since. All involve some kind of muddled herb and/or produce, much to my sister's dismay. She hates "floaties."

I have made Cilantro Vodka Gimlets, Mojitos with Cucumber & Ginger, Jalepeno Gin & Tonic, Irish Mules with fresh Mint, and this summer I perfected a Jalepeno Tequila with Cucumber, OJ, lime, and chili/salt rim.

Projecting ahead to the summer of 2019, I'm considering a grapefruit something or other, or perhaps a lemoncello, sparkling wine, thyme surprise. Either way, by early fall, you'll want to stop by for a sample.

Yesterday I dabbled in a different form of chemistry. I took a class on the art of henna. We mixed, strained, folded, filled and practiced drawing with henna cones. Needless to say, I need continued work, but I did learn a lot and will practice on anyone who is a willing participant.

my work

not my work

If You're Offered the Senior Discount, Take It

I don't give much thought to my age.

At work, I primarily spend my time with junior high students. They spend 2-3 years in middle school and then they move on. They get taller, their voices may change, along with their desire to date, drive and be done with school. I have worked with this population for almost 30 years. Although they grow up and move on, there is always a new crop of students, again between the ages of 11-14. They never grow old, nor, would it seem, do I. I believe I am the same 22-29 year old who started so many years ago. I'm single, carefree and independent.

Years ago I made a reference to the singer Sting to a junior high student. Sting, mind you, not the band he's most famous for playing in, The Police, but Sting himself. The young man asked, "Who is Sting?"

I was stunned, crushed even. Yet, in a moment of pure self-preservation, I thought "idiot." Obviously, there was something wrong with the kid.

When I became a special education administrator, I met a new employee. When he walked in, fresh out of college, my first thought was, "Did his mom have to drive him to the interview?"

He looked so young. This summer I stopped by his home in Oregon, the one he shares with his wife, their kids, dogs, chickens, and in-laws. He is a bonified adult who drove me back to my Air bnb after an evening of wine and conversation.

Now I work in schools with parents, grandparents and Millenials as my colleagues. One of my colleagues said, "You were my social worker when I was in junior high." She is in her 30s with junior high and high school aged children herself.

Another woman is my age and a grandparent, three times over. There is no denying it, I'm aging. I can no longer get up and down off the floor as easily as I once could. After physically intervening with a student, I sleep on a heating pad for the next day or two.

No one knows who Norm Peterson, Laverne DeFazio or Major Charles Emerson Winchester III were. I wonder how long Anthony Bourdain will remain in collective consciousness and how many generations will pass before his envelop-pushing life fades. It breaks my heart to even think about.

This summer I looked and felt young. I was fit, relaxed, tanned and free spirited. I had 20 grey hairs and enjoyed my first summer in 18 years driving a convertible. In the past four months it has gone to hell. I've gotten way more grey and I've put on weight.

My younger sister has always had grey hair. She has spent most of her adult life dyeing it some unnatural color between magenta, red and orange. This past year she decided to let it go. It is a beautiful salt and pepper grey, although honestly, it's more salt. She has got a young face and a feisty spirit. To my knowledge, she has never been offered a senior discount. To date, I've been offered it twice since November!

If offered the senior discount, my advice to you is to take it.

selfie by Jill Wallace

artwork by Julian Schnabel