Leaf Raking

My yard is being raked as I sit here blogging and drinking tepid coffee. I can hear the steady "reashk, reashk" sound of rakes combing the lawn.

Yard work soothes the soul. Raking leaves is one of my favorite household tasks. You set your own rhythm, change it up when the mood strikes (or the shoulder twangs) and progress is measured by a satisfying orderly cleanliness. Then you dump the leaves into the neighbor's yard.

Why, then, am I not the one out there raking?

The joy of yard work is now, sadly, no match for the misery of allergies. I used to "tough it out" and do it myself. A few hours of sneezing, swollen eyes and wheezing was an easy price to pay for the "did it myself" feeling at the end of the proverbial day (fall clean up is a many-afternoon task). Now, the scale has tipped in the other direction. Just an hour of outdoor clean-up will set off a series of allergy reactions that might last for days.

Doesn't that sound like fun? There are some benefits. I can tell you that "adult swim" on the cartoon channel (after 11pm) is pretty fun sometimes, and a good distraction from midnight eczema flare-ups that feel like a swarm of red ants is feasting on my lower legs. I can't think of anything else in the "pros" column right now.

I am grateful that I can afford to pay someone else to rake the leaves in my yard. And super-duper grateful that the Pedal People will do it!! I love the Pedal People. They use real RAKES, not any kind of obnoxious noisy stinky gross blowers....then they haul away the leaves on their BIKES. I love the Pedal People.
I think later I will dedicate a blog entry to them.

Peace.

Protractor

It's a good thing you can't see how many times I begin a sentence here and backspace it out of existence.

SEE is going to sunny California at the end of this month. I mean, oh crap, two weeks from today. Exhibition booth and Presentation Hall and all the glory that comes with being exhibitors and presenters at the NCSS Annual Conference. I just found out that Sandra Day O'Connor is going to be the main speaker at the conference - but we'll be on an airplane flying over Idaho by then. Arg.

Our Presentation has to be finished tomorrow. Not because it's a deadline for the show. It must be done or my husband might dump cold water on me at any moment. That might not make much sense. A short explanation: I can get too wrapped up in my "work." I've been married for almost 14 years. The husband is allowed to take drastic measures when I've entered the land of "all is secondary to my work."

My work. Is it "work" if there's no paycheck? Is it "work" if it's actually costing me money? Ahhh... Is it "work" if you frigging LOVE it??

Geek.

Bake Sales and Malls

Today my daughter had the day off from school. It was a professional day. It was also a day to vote, and we get to vote at our local elementary school. It happens to be my daughter's school. My point is that we made the trek to her school today even on a no-school day.

Last night I made 4 dozen oatmeal cookies and two dozen Cappuccino Chip muffins. Some of the cookies had chocolate chips in them, some were plain, and some had dried cranberries and pecans. I had way too much fun making all that food. Good thing, too, since the PTO raised a whopping $20.00 for all that effort. [said in typical smarmy fashion]

Then the business side of my brain elbows its way into this line of thinking and insists that it is not just the 20 bucks that the PTO has gained. All those voters come through the door, after walking through a cold rain and chilly wind, to be greeted by a smiling parent accompanied by his/her child, standing behind two table-clothed folding tables heaping with home baked treats. And hot coffee. With Real Cream!!

Yes, the treats cost money. Where else are you going to get such goodies, in such variety, at such reasonable prices (blueberry coffee cake for 50 cents?!?!)? And why not treat yourself, since a measly fifty percent of eligible voters even bother to vote? Anyway, it's called "Goodwill." That's what the PTO and our school gain by holding the quaint Election Day Bake Sale.

My daughter and I carried our paper sack full of confections across a playground field and back to my car. The grass was wet and the wind was whipping; it's a perfect day to go to The Mall.

We had high hopes when we arrived, parked and scrambled into an anchor store. Winter clothing was top on the list and we found a wonderful selection of children's coats. [She's already left the lining of her coat at her karate class tonight - not even 12 hours owned and already we have to search a lost & found bin.]

The store we shopped in had a long line of check-out stations.... and all of 3 were open when we were ready to check out. No rush, though, for us, so we ambled into a line and waited. Then it began. A run of sour luck in 3 stores in a row.

It started when a manager at this first store got our attention and told us to move over to a shorter line. I was happy to remain where I was but he insisted. So we move over to the "shorter" line and proceed to wait for the couple in front of us to count change for 5 minutes while we watched the people who had been in line behind us get checked through our old line. Oh, well. No hurry today.

Next stop, another anchor store for fancy shoes. More waiting for the sole sales person to finish a phone call so we could get some shoes to try on. And when we were ready to pay, we waited behind a woman who filled out an application for a credit card AND a shipping form. She wrote slowly and deliberately. Whew. No problem, no hurry today.

Last stop, big electronics anchor store - oops - no - wait - daughter forgot her rain coat in the last store - go back - found it! - okay, over to the electronics store to pick up a computer. This time, a "geek" would not be torn away from his conversation about pruning rhododendrons to get my computer. He scornfully looked sideways at me and walked away with his friend so they could pretend he was selling his friend a computer! Not kidding!

So my daughter and I did a little dance at the deserted counter and cupped our hands around our mouths, saying, "Heeelloooo?!? Is anyyybodyyy there?!?!?!?" Until a red faced "geek" came out from his lair and made very quick work of getting us out of there :)

I should sleep now. Or at least lay down.

Soccer Mom

My kid had a soccer game this past Saturday. It was freezing. She was a real trooper and played most of the game, as did all the other girls on the team. It was the last game of the season and her team got whipped.

My husband was the coach for our daughter's team. He was out there on the field, as cold as any of the girls and trying to call the game while the frigid New England November wind had its way with every person on the large open field filled with at least a dozen soccer games.

How do you teach 6 and 7 year olds to relish their wins gracefully and stand their losses just as gracefully? They're no dummies. Don't try to tell them to "just have fun" and, "keep learning from the better players" too many times. It takes one brief look into the face of one mom or dad to understand the affect of a competition's outcome.

Happily, I know that what I'll remember years from now is the image of my husband bending forward with his arms stretched out and beckoning his team to get closer to him so he can give them a few pointers, reminders. My spritely daughter spent almost as much time watching the sky and the neighboring games as she did watching the soccer ball.

When we returned home and were sipping our hot chocolate, tea (hubby) and coffee (me), my husband pulled a small envelope out of his back pocket and opened it while my daughter and I chanted, "What is it?" over and over again. It turned out to be a thank you card from one of the families of a girl on the team. They even included a gift card for a coffee and snack at a local bakery.

Now, whenever I hear the term, "soccer mom" spoken with an accent of disdain, I am reminded of how lucky I am to be one.

Just what I need - one more thing to do online

Why a blog? Why not. More later.