Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

Today would have been my mom's 84th birthday. Seven years ago today, we gathered to remember her a week after she passed away. That day, Dad led me into his bedroom where he'd laid out her jewelry and told me to take what I'd like to have. My two older sisters had already had their turn. Since I don't wear much jewelry, I only took a few pieces that I knew I would enjoy, but mostly, I took the pieces for sentimental reasons. Dad also told me I could have the jewelry box, a Japanese three-drawer piece made of bakelite. I have no idea how Mom came to have the jewelry box, but it had some brooches inside that I knew had been Grandma's, so I took it along with what it contained. Every now and then, I open the drawers just to take out a brooch and wonder on what occasion Grandma wore it. Or Mom. My favorite of all the pins is a silver piece with glittery clear rhinestones. It reminds me of a snowflake. When I wear it on a snowy day, I feel closer to Winter and all th

All the Christmas paraphernalia is tucked away for another year. I figured since it's all been up since Thanksgiving, it could all be taken down today. So it's down. Boxed up. Stored away. Ado tearing into one of his gifts! All morning I smiled as I worked. Yesterday with the kids was so much fun. The most ridiculous gift award goes to Funny Delightful Son. He very proudly handed me a small, heavy box as the first gift to open. I tore away the paper and looked inside. A shiny silver shut-off valve slipped into the palm of my hand. I raised my eyebrows, saying, "Thanks?" He just laughed. A few more gifts were opened around our circle. Lovely Beautiful Daughter squealing over the canvas tennis shoes I got her, and Angel Baby admiring the playmat for his new card game. Then FDS handed me another bigger box. I pulled the paper off and read the word Bidet . At that point the shut-off valve made sense. Ado with what was inside the box! I'm not sure who laugh

Most days, Ado goes to doggy daycare -- my husband's place -- for the afternoon. While I don't enjoy the moments my husband arrives to pick him up and drop him off, I believe Ado enjoys the time spent in the yard where he can run. And it's obvious he adores my husband, so I'm not going to get in the way. But I do miss him when he's gone. I'm so used to having him with me when I go for a walk that to walk alone feels very foreign. A large part of why I walk and what gives me pleasure when I walk is missing. Today I tried to find things to take pleasure in while walking alone. First was the tree at the bottom of Jersey Hill that someone had decorated with a few Christmas ornaments made from pine cones and red berries. A wreath had been set against the trunk, beside a plaque with the name of the person for whom the tree had been planted. Second was the sound of the water flowing over the rocks in the creek beside the path. Third was a rabbit huddled under a piece

Social security updated: check. Driver's license changed: check. Employee data information updated: check.  The only big item left to deal with is my passport. I figured notifying my employer, social security, and the DMV were most important. And they're done. Then it's all the little things, like the utility providers. I'm less concerned about them and will take my time getting those switched over to my new old name.  My new old name. Every time I tell myself I am now JKP, I feel like I'm slipping into that favorite comfy sweater with the sleeves fraying at the wrists. Signing my name makes me feel like the me before I married. It feels so right. I am JKP. I know I can never be anything else. When I set off this morning to take care of all the updating/changing, I met the kindest bus driver. His name is Rod. We chatted about the holidays for a bit, and I wished him a safe day. He sort of stopped when I said that and nodded, saying he certainly

It is officially official -- I have returned to my maiden name. After the judge signed the order, after the young woman handed me three copies with the court's seal, I had to restrain myself from dancing out of the justice center. Like when I signed the lease for the first unit the kids and I lived in, I felt a sense of freedom. My whole last name thing was the very first issue that cropped up in my marriage. Like the second day of my marriage. I intended to keep my maiden name. My husband opposed. Vehemently opposed. What will my mother think? he said. For weeks we went round and round about me changing my last name. To stop the bickering, I changed my last name. That was my first mistake. Giving in on that issue was like the crack in the lake's ice weakening the entire surface. Over the years other issues pushed against that crack until we fell through. My main goal for 2018 was to change my last name back to my maiden name. I went to a lawyer to talk about this and

I thought I'd made myself clear to my husband about us, about not wanting to reconcile. Apparently, my words about this subject the last five or six times I have told him as much meant nothing to him -- surprise, surprise. He comes inside and stays, wanting to carry on conversations about issues I do not want to discuss, such as the current leader of this country (who, according to my husband, is brilliant). I don't engage, yet he will linger, bringing up anything and everything to not have to leave. Yesterday, as he was leaning against my kitchen counter, going on about where rice is grown in the US, I texted some friends. I think my ignoring him and focusing on my phone told him it was time to leave. Just as he was leaving the kitchen and heading for the door, a friend called, hoping me getting a phone call would be enough to send my husband on his way. I think the combination of me texting and then the phone call was enough to get through to him that I wasn't interested

After dropping Ado off at the vet this morning for a spa day, cycle me whispered, "Cycle to work." So I laid out my cycling gloves and my knit hat. I switched all of my must-have items from my purse to my pannier. All set to leave I started for the door, and worry me whispered, "But you have to leave early to pick up Angel Baby. Cycling will make you have to rush." For a minute or longer I stood at the door, my hand on the knob, trying to make a decision. Cycle? Drive? Cycle? Walk to Uptown and catch the bus? Drive? Seriously, my indecision was absolutely ridiculous. I drove. Only because it would save me some time. As soon as I pulled into the parking lot and got out to walk inside, cycle me said loud and clear, "See how beautiful it is out? You missed a great ride this morning."  I couldn't disagree. The sun shone, and the air was noticeably warmer. The biting cold from the last few days was gone. I should have cycled to work. The beaut

My go-to for relieving the annoyance that comes with reading the final drafts of some student work is wrapping my favorite knit scarf around my neck, putting on my quilted deep green coat, then donning my boots to head out for a walk. So far today, I've needed two walks. I simply don't understand. During the last sixteen weeks, I've repeated some very basic information. Still, I get essays that don't demonstrate the student heard what I was saying (or even read the information as much of what I said was also offered in writing). After I give a failing grade for not following directions, I receive an email asking why the paper didn't pass. I then have to take time explaining, usually to a student who didn't attend class on a regular basis, which resulted in the student not hearing what I was saying and the student not going into the folders where the information was provided in writing. These students wear me out. Over the last fifteen years, much has chang

As I waited for the bus home yesterday, I listened to two students discussing the negatives of a couple of their instructors, one a French teacher and the other an English teacher. I found it amusing the students were upset with two language teachers, and I wondered if they had anything negative to say about their math teachers or science teachers. The gist of the conversation was both the French teacher and the English teacher have no idea how to teach. When I hear students tearing away at an instructor, my first thought is  and what, exactly, is your expertise in the area ? You, at 18 years old with say, what, maybe 100 hours of writing experience to your name ? And that 100 hours is probably a generous amount given how most students, probably even the two students loudly proclaiming how awful their French and English teachers are, claim they write papers in the hour before they are due. If what the students claim is actually true, this means if a student has written five papers