Tuesday Slice: Coleslaw

I know the answer before I ask, but ask it anyway.

"You don't eat coleslaw, right?"

"No," he says, and then proceeds to tell me all the different, other ways he will eat cabbage.  He knows he's not changing my mind by telling me.

Half a head, then.  The stemmed half gets bagged and refrigerated, and I turn back to the thin plastic chopping board.  There's something satisfying about slicing through the densely packed leaves, first one way, then the other.  A moment's hesitation trying to remember if there is onion in the recipe...I think there is, but I'm not in an onion mood tonight.

Kitchen memories of my mother and her mother surface as I finish chopping and transfer the last pale green bits to an old white, plastic bowl. The knife and board go into the sink.  I retrieve my favorite, red-handled spoonula.  My lack of spatial intelligence is evident once again, as the utensil refuses to fit in the mouth of the Hellman's mayonnaise jar.  A large soup spoon does the trick, and I add three big plops of that creamy goodness to the cabbage.  The spoonula does quick work of folding it all together.  I add one more spoonful of mayo for good measure.

Now the seasonings.  Salt, pepper, celery seed.  The scent of that last ingredient takes me back to those few summers I had with my grandparents in between my father's duty stations, the hot dogs-and-hamburgers cookouts my parents hosted for friends.

I add a bit more celery seed, for memory's sake.  The coleslaw is mine, all mine, and I don't mind a bit.

Tuesday Slice: Thank God for small favors

 

On this autumnal equinox

in a pandemic of global proportions

in an election year hampered by bots and trolls

in a hurricane season spinning past the alphabet

in a country, state, city of unrest and hateful acts

I am witness to kindness and understanding

I am safe in a house with a solid roof

I am registered to vote, and information literate

I am cared for by family and employers

***

On this autumnal equinox

coffee in hand

sounds of rainfall

meditative breaths

thankful for small favors.

Tuesday Slice: Fifth first day of the school year

 

My first official day on the school calendar was August 4th.  I had been working for a few days prior, getting the lay of the land in my new but familiar library.  We had to fill in a spreadsheet marking our comings and goings, limited time slots ensuring the ability to social distance.  Technically, I was not required to be on campus, but much of the work I had to accomplish couldn't be done virtually.  Some meeting days were spent at home, reminding me of our shelter-in-place spring.

The teachers' first official day was August 10th, a trade day for summer training, so the staff met virtually for the first time on the 11th.  Another day of online meetings; was I on campus, or off?  I can't remember, as my schedule seemed to change every day.  A few more teachers crossed paths with me on campus, but not many as the district was still honing its cleaning protocols and promoting work from home.  The focus of preparation was our new learning management system, confiscating days of training.

The students' first official day was August 20th--a virtual back-to-school riddled with technological glitches. Librarians joined instructional tech staff and educational assistants in a network of help desks, answering questions about logging in to the new LMS, Google Meets, and connectivity.  Two weeks into virtual schooling, the dust began to settle a bit.

The teachers' first official day on campus was September 8th, an asynchronous learning day for students so teachers could be trained once again, only this time for on-campus COVID protocols.  Rooms were finally set up, but sparsely to allow the social distancing of roughly thirty percent of the student population whose parents opted for in-person learning. Schedules must allow time for regular cleaning throughout the day.  

The in-person students' first day is today.  Orientation now includes presentations on social distancing, wearing masks, and using the hand sanitizing stations.  Support staff like myself are being used in novel ways; on our campus, we are assigned specific classes to monitor during specials as students remain in their classrooms, to allow their teachers planning time and keep bubbles as contained as possible. Class sizes were still changing as of yesterday, as parents were making last-minute decisions to keep their students at home.

Two more "first days" than usual for me; I wonder if there will be any more as we navigate this unmapped COVID landscape?  The optimist in me thinks that our sanitizing and distancing efforts will bring low risk of infection and a fairly healthy fall semester; the realist in me knows that we are dealing with many "bubbles" intersecting with our campus, and that children's behavior doesn't always fall neatly within protocols.

Mask, face shield, and sanitizer in hand, I venture into the fifth first day of school this year.

Tuesday Slice: Half lives

 

Did my mother stop and ponder, that March at forty-two?

Maybe she was too busy preparing for her last trans-Atlantic move, figuring out which household items to pack, already missing the German landscape she'd be trading in for El Paso tumbleweeds once more in May.  Maybe she was looking forward to my college graduation--or worried because it was one more event to attend during that transition.  

My mother, at twenty-one:  married, living in Paris with my Army father, navigating her first time overseas.  Giving birth without her own mother nearby.  She would have to pack up and move just six months later.  My mother is so young, in those black-and-white photos stored in the cabinet.  Did she think about this, that March of my twenty-first birthday?

Me, at twenty-one:  barely surviving student teaching.  Worried about getting a job after that May graduation.  Happy to be "legal" again (the law changed when I was nineteen).  Boyfriend, yes, but thoughts of marriage and children were only lightly discussed, certainly not planned.

Life's path has a way of twisting in unseen directions.  In three years I would be married (not to the boyfriend of twenty-one).  In three more, I became a mother.

That was a half-life ago.

Me, at twenty-seven:  considering leaving the teaching profession that March, that intention set in stone when I found out I was pregnant.  Thankful for that decision when my baby was born at twenty-six weeks in September.  Worried about her health, her future.

My daughter, at twenty-seven:  married, beginning her last year as a JET-ALT in Japan, preparing for another trans-Pacific move next summer.  Trying to make the most of the time she has left overseas, even as she prepares for life back in the U.S. She has the gumption of her grandmother, her birthday-mate. 

Me, at fifty-four:  grateful for unplanned blessings, for what I've experienced and learned these last twenty-seven years. 

Tuesday Slice: September, lyrical

"Thirty days hath September,..."  

I paused this morning and realized the poem begins with September, not January.  This is the first full month of school for many students and teachers, so maybe the nursery rhyme decided to follow suit.  I've been an educator long enough to appreciate this extra New Year of sorts; it certainly takes more preparation and has more impact than January first.  This September brings its challenges as we begin our year as we ended it, in pandemic mode.

"September morn

We danced until the night

Became a brand new day...

Look at what you've done

Why, you've become a grown-up girl..."

Ah, Neil Diamond.  My mother was a fan, and so am I.  There's always a wistful longing in his voice as he sings his stories.  Didn't we all grow up just a little more each September, as we crossed thresholds into new classrooms, cafeterias, colleges? We were a military family; I attended eight schools before graduating, and went to college six hundred miles away from my mother and brother--who then moved to Germany to accompany my father.  I had no choice that September, that year, but to become a grown-up girl.

"Do you remember the 21st night of September?

Love was changing the minds of pretenders

While chasing the clouds away..."

I can't help but dance and sing along when this song plays on the radio.  Another season begins this month, the equinox celebrated by Earth, Wind and Fire.  Fall is my favorite season--the promise of summer's heat breaking with cooler nights, the happy preparation for the coming holidays, a moment to pause and be thankful.  I will be decorating my house with fall colors this coming Labor Day weekend, even as temperatures threaten to remain in the triple digits.

Rabbit, rabbit is what we say on the first day of a new month, for luck.  May this September, this month of beginnings, bring us all a bit of luck, a portion of hope, and in this pandemic--health.