First off, this isn’t an ode. Not in the real, Webster’s definition, kind of way. It’s more of a blog about toast. Maybe a blogode? Or what ee cummings would have written about toast if he was a toast-eating, ode-eating dude in 2013 with a blog. Whatever, this is about toast. If you can’t handle my mangling of the ode format, you need more toast in your life. Read more…
Since January, I’ve been trying to go for a 30 minute walk every day. Somedays it doesn’t happen, much to my dog’s dismay, but most days it does. I started walking in the darkness of the northwest’s winter, which meant I gloved up, put on a hat, and zipped up my raincoat over several layers. (The dog looked similarly attired.) I’d set a timer on my phone and we’d head out, dreaming of days of more heat and sun and fewer layers.
I set the timer as a way of making sure I was walking for at least 30 minutes and to challenge myself to walk a bit farther each day, a bit faster.
In the days between early January and now I’ve learned just how fast we can walk and just how far we can get. We always get farther on the weekends when traffic and stop lights aren’t as much of an impediment. But we have more people watching available to un during the week. It seems like a good balance.
Today, as we left the house, I didn’t set my alarm.
Lately I’ve been scratching myself a lot. Like enough to be socially awkward. I should probably figure out what’s causing this itching, but I have a pretty good idea. I’m not worried, just itchy. Back in college I would get hives between my fingers and on my wrists the week before mid-terms and finals. Every single time. Imagine how brilliant my GPA could have been without all that itching and scratching back then. Somehow, the awarding of my bachelor’s degree magically cured my itchy habit and I pretty much forgot about it.
But I appear to be back to my old itchy ways. I’m not totally sure why as there are no graduate classes filling my time, but I hazard it is the same poorly fashioned coping skill at work. If I go see my doctor, the first question will be “Are you under any stress?” And my response will be obscured by laughter. Stress? Of course I’ve got stress going on in my life. I’m a parent, spouse, part-time employee working closer to full-time these days, and writer by night. Sleep is a precious commodity in my life, just like her best friends: relaxation, me-time, and joy.
Pardon me while I scratch a bit more. Read more…
I’ve been deep in thought about many things of late. Not particularly unusual for me, that habit of navel gazing even when fully clothed in the minutia of life. The sun is making its rays felt here a bit more these days and that has me thinking about things flora, of the persistence of life pushing its way up through the dirt and lifting its face to the sun. Spring brings new life and the chance for my compost bin to heat up.
Stirring the Compost
The lid lifts and the smell of dirt greets me. Not dirt like in a farmer’s
South forty or what’s squashed into plastic bags down at the store,
But dirt made by my hands, gardening tools, and family’s menu. Read more…
In my “Dayjobbery” column, I must note that I work on Sundays. I head into the office on Wednesdays and most Thursdays, and also work from home. All those bits and pieces make my job a good fit for where myself and my family are these days. But it means that I work on Sundays. And when you work on Sundays and the rest of your friends and family don’t, you are at odds with their schedule.
For me, that’s just the way it is and I roll with it without a lot of whining (hush up Mister Soandso!). After all, I have Saturday with my family to do family stuff. But sometimes my dayjob adds other demands and when that happens, I go without my “weekend” or as the rest of my family call it, “Saturday.” Read more…