Bittersweettoast

I am not sure what it is about the Sunday New York Times. Perhaps it's just the leisurely tone that tends to describe the last day of the week. Perhaps it's because the Sunday edition gives my mind and eyes a rest from the often depressing daily news. Whatever the reason, Sunday's paper often gives me inspiration. Anne Patchett is my muse today. She has long been a favorite author, so when I saw her name below an editorial titled, "My Year of No Shopping", I delved in. This topic has been on my mind a lot this holiday season because of my kids. When I asked them a month ago about Christmas ideas, their lists were scant. I didn't think much about it until decorating our tree last weekend and realized how little would go under its limbs this year. I'm okay with this. I am happy that many younger generations seem genuinely interested in our planet's health and welfare and our need to stop over-indulging. Anne Patchett's essay  is a reminder that us o

During my second year of teaching I had a parent who prefaced every conversation by saying, "Well, you know, I AM a psychologist..." Code speak for, "You are a young, lowly teacher who knows nothing, so let me enlighten you." I WAS young and new at the profession, not wise to the realities of parenting, but I wasn't stupid. Midway through October, I did what most every teacher I know does when group dynamics call for a disruption -- I changed the seating order in my classroom. Now, had I been a psychologist, I would have known that this was a dangerous thing to do to kids. My psychologist parent helped me see the light. "I AM a psychologist," the conversation once again began, "and humans are creatures of habit. In a large lecture hall, students will naturally gravitate to the same seat, day after day. Your students are being harmed by this new seating arrangement." Now back in the day I had to go up to the school office to take phone calls b

Those who know me well know of my love for The Great British Baking Show. Unlike every American baking or cooking show, this is a kinder and gentler approach to competition where the contestants, vying for a lovely glass plate in lieu of a million dollars, actually help one another and are genuinely empathetic about fellow bakers' mishaps. The show's hosts don't cream puff their comments, but they're never mean or condescending. When octogenarian Mary Berry gives them advice, they listen wholeheartedly. And each season's group of bakers always has a refreshing diversity of ages. These are real people who spend several long and exhausting weekends under a white tent on the grounds of a beautiful English estate. Not because they seek fame and fortune, but because they simply love to bake in their own modest home kitchens. Period. I thought about The Great British Baking Show this morning as I read the Sunday edition of The New York Times. Bear with me; there is a co

My husband and I recently went to Chicago to visit our daughter who has been living and working there now for over a year. I had never stepped foot in the Windy City and was excited to get to know this place our daughter calls home. Spending time with her was a huge bonus. We live in a suburb of Seattle where our greatest fear tends to come in the form of four-legged creatures that roam through our backyard looking for a den or their next meal in an ever-diminishing habitat. We don't own any small pets, so their presence doesn't tend to affect us much. Life is pretty quiet and safe in our neck of the woods. So when our daughter landed this job in Chicago, I wondered how her transition would go. She has always loved the outdoors; would city life suit her? Our eighteen years of suburban parenting didn't exactly prepare her well for an urban adventure. Thrive she has. More comfortable than me in a big city she is. I had nothing to do with this, and yet it made me proud to se

There is no large handbook that comes with the arrival of a child. That's fortunate because there truly are so many different ways to raise a child and live a life and unfortunate because there truly are so many different ways to raise a child and live a life. Sometimes it's overwhelming and you just want someone to swoop down and guide you. Children, however, grow slowly and if we watch and listen carefully, they often give us guidance. When my kids left the infant stage, they didn't suddenly wake up as terrible two-year-olds. When they rounded the corner into their teenage years, we didn't suddenly announce, "Oh, today you are a pubescent teenager who no longer listens and admires our every word." The pimples slowly started to appear, the body slowly developed, the attitude stealthily crept in. As our kids changed, we adapted. That all sounds blissful, right? Well, it wasn't. Parenting is a messy profession that has provided me with some of my greatest

Generally speaking, when I start a project I'm likely to see it through to its end. I'm naturally suspicious of people with grandiose plans and have sometimes scoffed at those individuals for spouting out ideas that seem questionable at best and nearly impossible to actually complete. It's taken me a long time to recognize that it's really just a matter of style and personality. I'm the winter stew, simmering forever before presenting itself with its finished flavors. I mull ideas in my head for a long time before sharing them with others. When I say I am going to do something, I want to be able to follow through. For better or for worse, that's just who I am. I started this blog almost five years ago (pause. sigh. time does indeed fly). When I began I had every intention of getting through all 50 drinks because, well,  that's just who I am. But then I started teaching full time, and the busy-ness of life, work, and parenthood stepped in to thwart this wel