Mazel Tov!

This weekend’s Bar Mitzvah for grandson #2 was a roaring success.

Afternoon terror

     No, I'm not packing a miniature sheep for the trip to this weekend's Bar Mitzvah.

Once a teacher, always a teacher

I’ve started down a slippery slope. I’ve just accepted gifts under false pretenses.

          There I was in Staples yesterday, picking up a plastic file box for tax paperwork, a pack of gold and silver Sharpees for kids to sign in at our grandson’s Bar Mitzvah this weekend, and most important of all, a bag of dark chocolate bark with coconut.

          I stepped up to the register, handed over my Staples Teachers Rewards card, and the clerk gave me a knowing look.

          “Have we given you your goody pack yet?”

          (What on earth??)

          “Um, no.” Whatever it was, I knew I hadn’t received it.

         

          He whipped an envelope from beneath the counter, informing me that I would also receive 10% off my purchase.

          I’ve been retired since 2011, but I hadn’t invited Staples to the party so I guess they thought I was still in the trenches.

          I felt a little guilty as I left, but then I remembered all the money I've spent every September to prep my classroom and my students.

          The envelope turned out to only have a bunch of Staples coupons and half of a Post It notepad.

          And besides, the 10% off paid for my chocolate.

         

A Disappearing Skill

Back when the earth was still cooling, I signed up for driver’s ed class at Washington-Lee High School in Arlington, Virginia.

Come on over

The best way to entertain is to tell yourself sternly that you’re not going to fuss. You’re going to keep it simple.

Wallflowers at the Dance

Absolutely no one showed up for the open house at our place on Sunday – granted the weather that day was spectacular, but still. . .no one?

Country girl to city girl

Mamie is adjusting nicely to condo living, although I’m sure she misses her favorite patch of pachysandra back at the house. 

Quiet day at the condo

Our relentless pace has slowed down a bit.

Land management

Our move is complete.

          That is, as long as you don’t count the boxes filled with tools of his father and his father before him that My Guy is still hauling over from the house. And the many pictures we’ve left on the walls to brighten the now-empty rooms for buyers. Oh, and the shed and garage treasures still to be disposed of – anyone interested in a cross-buck for sawing wood, or perhaps a vinyl panel left over from building our outside shower?

          Our neighbor took the wheelbarrow and my hairdresser came over on Sunday for a big roll of tar paper for the roof of the mudroom he’s adding to his house. How serendipitous that I got my hair cut last week.  At this point, any conversation with us can be dangerous: “Really? You’re thinking about chickens? Well! We just happen to have a length of fencing that would be perfect!”

          Since we’ve only now put the house on the market, we’re wearing a path over the 1.8 mile stretch of Main Street between it and the condo. Sanity prevailed over thrift and we hired someone else to paint two rooms that were looking a bit battered, but we’re still bopping back and forth. I spent much of Sunday morning weeding, but with an acre and a half of land, the process had a teaspoon-and-ocean kind of feel to it. There’s an open house planned for next weekend, so that means back to the homestead for more yard work and touch up.

          Today I hope to get outside here and gain control of the flowerbeds surrounding our condo.

A Moving Experience

No, I haven’t fallen into the failing septic system out back or collapsed after the umpteenth trip carrying boxes from the old house to the new. We’ve spent the last two weeks in a different dimension.