BJs, TJs, and PJs

BJs

Large carts, large quantities, large amounts of money.

Soaps, toothbrushes, socks, and meats.

Snow coming.

What more could you need?




TJs*

Small red basket, small handles.

Spinach yogurt dip, himalayan pink salt crystals, rosemary raisin crackers.

Snow starts.

What else?



PJs

Make meatballs, roast butternut squash, freeze meat.

Big flakes, big snow.

What more could you want?


PJs, snow-watching, dinner, bed.


*Trader Joe's 

Abby's Coffee

Beginning with a single mug, a single coffee cone, and a single coffee filter, my daughter Abby creates a simple workspace to make her pour over coffee.

She puts the filter in the coffee cone, and balances it all on top of a mug that doesn't quite fit.

Without measuring, she scoops coffee into the paper filter. Grounds splay around the cup.

She pours the water into the cone, takes a spoon, and stirs the grounds. The water flows over the top and dribbles down the side of the mug. A puddle grows at the base of the mug, slowly reaching out from the once simple workspace.

"Good morn!" she says when she sees me. Her dark brown hair is tousled in a pony tail, and she is wearing a tailored black V-neck sweater and sleeping shorts - half dressed for work. "Do you care if I watch House Hunters?" Without waiting for a response, she flicks on an HGTV show that has been DVRed, and fast forwards it. "This one's a bit boring, but I love Italy." She has either seen this show before, or is resuming watching it.

After the water runs through the coffee grounds, she adds more, spilling over the top again. She stirs the mush in the cone with a spoon, and puts the messy spoon on the counter, adding to the growing watery brown pond on the counter.

Though the water has not moved all the way through the filter, she moves the cone off of the mug, across the kitchen floor, and into the sink. There is now a stream that connects the pond on the counter to the sink.

The black coffee meets the rim of the mug. It is ready to push over the edge again. Abby adds almond milk, then quickly brings her mouth down to the top of the mug and slurps in a futile attempt to keep the coffee from spilling even more.

"Mmmm," she mumbles. She picks up the mug, spills more, and turns to the TV.

When she is done, she grabs a sponge and swishes it across the counter, leaving streaks of brown detritus.

She turns off the TV, pulls her hair back, and leaves to fully dress for the day.

"Love you! Have a great day!" she yells from the basement, just before the door slams.

Tomorrow will bring another similar morning. But in a month the puddles and the mess will no longer be there. They will have flowed to Arlington, where she will begin new rituals and routines without me even knowing what they are.

Florence

When my husband came home from surgery I was looking forward to drawing on my inner Florence Nightingale. If he needed something, I would be right there for him. If he asked for a glass of water, I would happily get it for him.

Florence was with me in the hospital when the nurses weren't attentive. My husband had to use the bathroom. I called the nurse once. I called her twice. "She's with another patient right now," the aide said. 

"But my husband has to use the bathroom," I urged. In the meantime, he was beginning to get up out of bed, which was a no no. In the end, I helped him to the bathroom, and Florence encouraged me to stay overnight so that he would have the attention he needed. 

By the time we got home, he was walking and moving. He was getting up with just a cane. By day two he was off meds. Flo left me for a little while. "Can you grab my shirt from the closet?" No problem. Shirts he needed. "Eggs for breakfast would be nice." Uh oh. Flo was getting up to walk away. Was it the tone of expectancy? Was it that he always made his own breakfast? Was I just tired? 

"Sure," I grumbled. 

As the days wore on, Flo visited less and less frequently. Last night, my husband said, "You're not sweet to me anymore." Was the "anymore" referring to just after surgery? The beginning of our marriage? 

He was right. Florence has left and makes infrequent visits here. Everyone is independent and Flo isn't needed. But sometimes we could use a visit. 

Ruminating

Sometimes I hesitate to jump on the band wagon. I often slow down before jumping in to something, whether it is a new curriculum or a commitment to volunteering. I need to consider if it either fits in to what I know and believe, or if I can sustain the commitment. Too many times I have committed to things that I can't sustain, and it never feels good to back out.

So, before signing on to something, I ruminate over it: Does this jive with what I know and believe? Does this fit with who I am as a person or who I want to be? Will this end up being the "one more thing," or will this be time well spent?

For years I had wanted to be part of a book club, but the commitment to reading (an adult) book every month, and giving up an evening a month, was more than I thought I could manage. Where did the book club fall on the scale of "time value"? I finally joined one last year, as time opened up with my kids now grown. I have found that the friends in the club bring breadth to my world, and the reading the same. I was late to the game, but it was worth jumping in.

The SOL March commitment was similar for me. I was interested in writing daily, since I consider myself a perpetual fledgling writer, but I was reluctant to commit to managing the posts, and writing daily, and publicly.

The tipping point to committing was when I read some posts of colleagues and realized that this was truly a community. Writing daily for an audience does fit in with who I want to be and who I am as a person. I am confident it will be time well spent. I am looking forward to the commitment, and to growing through it.