Month: May 2021

We had settled in yesterday evening to watch a family movie, when I saw that my neighbor across the street was calling. She usually texts, and it’s almost always about store runs or gardening chit-chat, and it’s never as late as 8:30 PM.

“Hey, so, the street lamp in front of your house is smoking.”

I almost answered, “Well, that’s a terrible habit.” But, seriously, “What? Really?”

We rushed out front and saw that, indeed, the lamp was smoking. The plastic globe had a hole in it, and a bird (most likely a robin) had taken the opportunity to build a nest inside. I guess it was pretty hot in there, and the nest acted as ideal kindling. The bird had already vacated, and we could only hope she didn’t leave any eggs behind.

Our neighbor was on hold with the non-emergency line, but once the smoke reached a new level of intensity, he called 911. He was put on hold again and, after about a minute, was able to speak to someone and explain the situation. The dispatcher said the fire department would be on their way.

About 10 seconds later, flames started shooting out, and to our great relief, a fire truck rounded the corner about five seconds after that.

I was a little disappointed that they didn’t have the siren and flashing lights going. I expected a flurry of activity and lighting-quick speed in unfurling the hoses, firefighters in full suits dropping from the sides, just like on TV.

Instead, they nonchalantly stepped down from the truck, gazed up at the flames, and casually fetched the hoses. I was silently screaming, “Look at those flames! They’re about two inches from that tree, which brushes up against our tree, which hangs over our entire house!”

Maybe they were taking a cautious approach because it was an electrical fire? Maybe they see this every day?

Finally, they directed a powerful stream of water up at flames and made short work of the whole ordeal.

I had called the kids out to see the production, and after a few mildly raised eyebrows and bored yawns, the headed inside. Really?

Once the firefighters were certain the fire was out and the current was off, they began furling up the three hoses. That was pretty cool: they stretched them down the street and then rolled them up in unison; they looked like circus performers.

I ducked my head in the front door and called, “Hey, kids! They’re rolling up the hoses!”

I got an uninterested, “Okay, Mom.”

Edwin and I have a Thursday afternoon routine. We drop him at Gardening Club at Wakefield around 3:30. If he’s running late, I drive because rushing makes him nervous (and he’s not allowed to).

While he and his gardening buddies weed, dig, and plant, I do my five-mile run around the area. Just as I finish stretching post-run, he rounds the corner, gardening gloves in hand.

After he adjusts the seat and mirrors, and checks the surroundings, he eases onto the road.

This time, we planned to stop at the grocery store for a couple of things for tonight’s dinner, and then I thought I really should plan the next few meals, as well.

Instead of tensing up as we passed every car, and wearing a hole in the floor where my imaginary passenger-side brake is located, I searched up a few recipes, updated the store list, and calmly gave driving advice along the way.

We’ve both made progress.

The students were having small-group discussions today based on the read-aloud we started, A Long Walk to Water. One of the questions they addressed was “How does girls’ lack of access to education affect the global community?” I knew it was a meaty question, but they have some experience with the issue from our previous unit. I was curious to see what would come out of it.

Some groups needed a little support – they were focused only on how the lack of access directly affects the girls. I was jumping into the breakout rooms online, and also catching snippets of conversation from my in-person group, who happened to have one particular student who has been extremely quiet this year.

I was about to jump into the next breakout room when I caught part of what the quiet student was saying. Hold up.

“Can you repeat that a little louder, please?” I said in a very encouraging voice, crossing my fingers that she wouldn’t retreat back into her shell.

“Okay…well…when that many people are not able to get an education, we are missing out on a lot good ideas. Also, governments would probably be run better.”

There you have it: proof of why we need to keep drawing them out.

Chris often accuses me of making him play Bad Cop with the kids. He said this at the dinner table last night, and the kids scoffed.

“That means Mom would be Good Cop, and she is so not Good Cop. You’re both Bad Cop.” They firmly backed each other up on this.

Well, Chris is not always Bad Cop, and the kids know it. When he headed out the door this evening to pick up a very necessary red onion for tonight’s dinner and a few things for tomorrow’s dinner, the kids were close on his heels.

In addition to the onion, mushrooms, and garlic, they were toting a large jar of apple sauce, canned pineapple, pretzels, cheese sticks, a few packs of gum, and some Goldfish.

He is so not Bad Cop.

I did some weeding in this afternoon, and as I pulled up little tufts of grass and other unwanted volunteers, I started noticing holes appear. Cicadas! They’re down there, indeed, and almost ready to greet us.

I gently poked my weeding tool into a hole and caught a glimpse of a cicada slowly squirming around. Better not to upset him (her?), especially with a metal tool – I might do some real damage.

I went on my way, seeing dime-sized holes appear now and then, but not really catching another glimpse of the our soon-to-be guests, but I swear I could feel the ground buzzing. So, I gingerly lifted up a stepping stone. Bingo! They haven’t been merely sleeping all this time; they’ve been tunneling and preparing for their grand debut. They’re not quite ready – most barely reacted when I lifted up the stone. Some were a bit more animated than others, but they still look so tender and defenseless.

According to a quick Google search (as it’s been a minute since I witnessed this myself), these nymphs will crawl out of the ground, shed the tender exoskeleton, and then the magic happens: the wings inflate with fluid, and their adult skin will harden.

It’s kind of sad knowing that these critters will face all kinds of violence when they emerge: people will swat at them and squash them underfoot (not to mention speak very ill of them); and birds, dogs, and other predators will gorge themselves on them.

Yet, they persevere.

We went to a Nats game Friday night with friends who had some pretty sweet tickets. We sat 22 rows up from third base, the closest view I had ever had. Things didn’t feel quite normal, of course, since they are only seating 25% of the stadium’s capacity, and you have to remain masked unless “actively eating or drinking.”

We took a stroll around the stadium at one point, and plenty of refreshments stands and spirit wear shops were open, but only a few clumps of people waited in line here and there. I was in disbelief that we had actually done an entire lap because it was so quick – no throngs to weave through.

When it was time for the presidents’ race, they played a pre-recorded bicycle/ footrace that took place outside the stadium. It was a little disappointing, but no biggie.

After nine innings, the scoreboard displayed two rows of straight zeros. At the top of the 10th, the Marlins started with a runner on second (a new rule created to speed up the game and attract and appease the younger, more impatient fans). The next batter hit it deep enough into the outfield for the guy on base to get home.

We had one last chance to win it. We put a man on second, and then the new guy, Max Scherzer, comes up and sends that ball to the moon. It was beautiful. We jumped out of our seats and whooped and hollered through our masks.

It was time to go home, but no slow-moving herds of people oozed around us, no mad scramble broke out on the way to the parking garage. We nonchalantly made our way down the stairs and out of the stadium.

Goodnight, Nats. Thank you for a quiet, breezy evening punctuated at the end by a short burst of Natitude.