Pear and Gorgonzola Salad

Clearly I'm not good at sticking to this whole recipe a week routine.  I blame it on the frequent urge to order out, usually spurred by excessive studying.  With finals only a month away, I expect this to happen a lot.  I resorted to some pretty extreme methods of finding food during last semester's finals period, including eating a decorative gingerbread house for dinner one night and an entire bag of frozen edamame another.  It wasn't pretty.

Anyway, earlier this week Jack wasn't feeling well so I decided to be nice and grab him some soup on the way home.  I got carried away in the grocery store and ended up buying a ton of produce, including the stuff to make this salad.  It's one of Jack's favorites and perfect for warm weather.  Not that the weather was warm this week, but a girl can dream.  Here's the super easy recipe.

Pear and Gorgonzola Salad
Any measurements I give (and there are hardly any) are for two big serving sizes, so adjust accordingly depending on how many people you're serving.

 Salad Ingredients
-Arugula
-Crumbled gorgonzola cheese
-A pear
-Chopped walnuts

Dressing Ingredients
-Extra virgin olive oil
-White wine vinegar
-Dijon mustard (I love Grey Poupon or any kind that has that seedy texture)
-Brown sugar (you can also use maple syrup or honey, but I didn't have either)
-Salt and pepper

1) Make the dressing first.  One of the things I love about cooking is messing around with things and seeing how they taste, so I rarely measure.  I'll try to estimate how much of each I used, but always taste it and play around with adding more of one ingredient depending on what you like.

Add about one and a half tablespoons olive oil, one tablespoon white wine vinegar, one tablespoon Dijon mustard, and a few spoonfuls of brown sugar to a small bowl and whisk together.  Add salt and pepper (using grinders like I have, about 12-15 twists of salt and 8-10 twists of pepper).  TASTE FIRST and add more of any ingredients as you like.

2) Wash the arugula and put into bowls (or one big bowl if you're being fancy)

3) Peel the pear and slice in thin pieces. You can cut the slices in halves or quarters depending on how big you want the pieces in the salad.

4) Mix the pear pieces, gorgonzola crumbles, and walnuts into the arugula.

5) Add the dressing and toss together.

Super easy and super good.  It's especially good with big pieces of crusty Italian bread with butter.

How To: Live the Dream

Find a beach.  Sit on it.  

Easy enough.

Wear bright nail polish and even brighter bathing suits.

I must have looked like a crazy person when I went through security because I brought six different nail polish colors with me.  That's right, SIX.  As if I would even take the time to repaint my nails once I got here.  I was so torn between which color to choose before I left that I painted each of my nails a different color to decide.  Just one of the common problems of living the dream.

Jump in the air and have someone take a picture.  Or be artsy and take a picture of your shadow on the sand.

Drink something exotic, like raspberry beer.

 A delicious beach drink that packs quite a punch if you aren't careful.  Mix four Coronas, 1/2 a cup of vodka, and a container of frozen raspberry lemonade from concentrate and serve over ice with fresh raspberries.  Extra points if you have chilled Mason jars to drink out of, because I got this drink idea when I was living in Charlotte.  The only thing more southern is a gin bucket.  This is my (late) Sunday night recipe for this week.

Note the bright yellow French manicure.

Follow a strict diet of fresh seafood and anything fried.  

Or both, if it's available (I'm a sucker for a good fried cod).  Tonight we're pairing raw oysters with March Madness games, and hopefully I'll get a crack at some salmon before I leave.  Also, eat outside when possible.

Lunch at the Tiki Bar at the pool.  Fried green beans every time.

Use the hand signal for another round at least once (twirl finger above head enthusiastically)

This is too much fun to not do it at least once in your life.

Read.  Read a lot.  

Read enough to give yourself an embarrassing sunglasses tan or one of those weird back tan from propping yourself up on your stomach.  This vacation I read all three Hunger Games books in two days.  Last time I was down here it was a great book called "The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake," by Aimee Bender.  Super strange and beautifully written... I definitely recommend it.

Watch a sunrise or a sunset, take a picture, and share it on social media to make other people jealous.  Works like a charm.

Sunrise on the Atlantic is BEAUTIFUL

Change your flight to either arrive earlier or leave later.

My Nana's friend pretended to be Kristin and managed to get her and Ryan an extra two days by explaining to the Orbitz customer service rep that her "grandma" was 85 years old and would only be able to drive them to the airport two days later during the daylight hours.  Midway through the negotiations she covered the phone, turned to Kristin, and said, "You're kind of a bitch on the phone!"  Completely worth it.

Ignore the clock and any e-mails that seem stressful/important.

Meaning anything that my Con Law professor has sent is still unread.  And meaning that my clock looks like this:

Vacation sun dial

Sunday Night Dinner: Balsamic Rosemary Chicken

In the spirit of a new tradition (and being a copycat), I'm sharing my newest recipe.  Because I'm going to Florida in a week and have to stand in a bikini next to my itty bitty mother and sister, I'm South Beach dieting before I go.  I got this recipe off the South Beach website and made a couple of changes based on procrastination (you're supposed to marinade overnight), then added my own side.

***

The Main Dish: Balsamic Rosemary Chicken

Ingredients
4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
3-4 sprigs (is that what they're called?) of fresh rosemary
3 cloves of garlic, minced
Salt and pepper
Extra virgin olive oil
Balsamic vinegar

Info: takes about 30-40 minutes to prep and cook, serves 4

Directions
1) Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

2) Take the leaves off of the rosemary and mince them.  Combine them in a bowl with the garlic and about 1/4 teaspoon of salt and 1/4 teaspoon of pepper

3) Put the chicken breasts in an oven safe dish (I used a round Pyrex dish) and drizzle with olive oil.  I used about a tablespoon, but you can use more then that.  Rub the rosemary mixture into the chicken.

4) Put the chicken in the oven.  After 10 minutes, flip the breasts over (and add a little butter to the pan if you're butter crazy like me).  Leave them in for another 12-17 minutes.  I think our oven takes a little longer than most, so I was at the higher end of the time.

5) Once it's out, drizzle balsamic vinegar over top of the chicken and serve it up!  Spoon up the remaining juice in the dish to put on the chicken.

The Side: Green Beans

Ingredients
Green beans
White onion
Extra virgin olive oil
Parmesan cheese (I like shaved Parm)

Directions
1) Clean and trim green beans.  Chop the onion.

2) I steamed the green beans, but you could boil them too.  While the green beans are cooking, soften the onions in a skillet with a little olive oil.  Once both are done, toss the onions and green beans together with a little salt and pepper.

3) Add parmesan cheese and they're ready to go!  I added a little of the balsamic sauce from the chicken to these, but green beans are good with red wine vinegar too.

***

Unfortunately, I didn't do a great job photographing the step by step, so I only have the final product.  I also am a rookie as far as measuring goes... I generally do a lot of eyeballing.

Jack's verdict: "Mmmmm."
He also added about three times as much parmesan after the picture was taken.

Overall, a great meal (and South Beach friendly!).  The rosemary is awesome, and the chicken came out really juicy and delicious.

If I Had a Million Dollars...

...I'd become a food blogger.  It used to be a craft expert, but I think I'd get bored with the few crafting skills I do have pretty quickly (probably limited to writing in interesting letters and Mod Podging).  But after my friend Whitney started a blog with a Sunday night recipe feature, I wanted to start the same thing.  Call me a copycat.  For the moment, that's what I'm doing.  But I love food and I love cooking and if I want my mom to continue paying my cellphone bill, I need to start producing more than one blog every four months.  That or go back to teaching so I can talk about the hilarious things that children do.

Am I starting right now?  No, but be on the look out for some insight into my culinary skillfulness in the near future.

The Hiatus

Blogging isn't quite as soothing when you spend every waking minute reading and writing and trying to avoid even the most stylistic use of the passive voice.  It also doesn't serve much of a purpose when the only funny stories you have either revolve around nerdy law school jokes or the fact that one of your professors wears a fanny pack and uses Lindsay Lohan in all of his hypotheticals on land grants and the law of estates.  I'd like to go back to giving it a try anyway.

It feels like the first time seeing an ex after a break-up, months later with an awkward amount of space to fill with small talk and half-interested nods.  I have't seen this "compose" page of my blog in so long that I almost wasn't sure I was in the right space.  But I'm back, and I guess that's all that matters.

So what small talk do I start with? I guess I could tell you what I've been doing for the past four months.

Read, study, writing assignments, repeat.

That actually sums up everything you need to know, at least about the law school part. 

What about my social life?

I spent last Saturday watching puppy shows on Animal Planet in
between frequent panic attacks about my moot court brief

I guess that picture works for that too.

Be on the lookout for more...

Making Sense

I'm sitting in a Panera with a blank computer screen up. Ten... twenty... thirty minutes have gone by since I opened my torts casebook. The playlist on my iPod looped four times before I noticed.

I can't make sense of the last month, and that lack of sense pervades into most of the things I try to do. I end up staring. Then shaking my head and getting back to work only to stare again. Some days that's all there is- blank-eyed stares. Other days it's not so bad.

That's the funny thing about grief. It's like having a leech on your back sucking out your energy, mostly without you knowing. Maybe you're fine, maybe you're just used to being drained. Then sometimes you laugh and you believe that you're finally alright again, only to be right back to where you started five minutes later. Like I said, I can't make sense of it.

Because I see things in black and white, I struggle with this. I just want to crawl into bed. I don't want to be in a gray area, in a kind of limbo where life is back to normal but it's not back to normal at all. I want every day to be the same, for better or worse, so I can figure out where I am. But it doesn't work like that.

You take one day at a time. One hour at a time, even. Like my dad says- do one thing at a time, and do it right. It's all you can do.

The Important Thing

What my sister and I read at Jon's services...

In times of seemingly insurmountable grief, we seek, more than anything, understanding. We look endlessly for answers. We ache to be “okay,” but we also fight it, never wanting to be “okay” with a loss so great that it shakes us to our very core.

When Jon was born, Sara and I jumped on our bed chanting, “We’re getting a brother! We’re getting a brother!” From that day on, our lives and the lives of those around us have never been the same. We all got a brother that day and we sit here now with hearts that are heavy and soaked with sorrow.

The love we have for Jon fills this room, along with the memories he has forever imprinted in our minds. We cannot find the words to express how overwhelming this feeling of love is, so we look to the words of another to explain.

From the children’s book by Margaret Wise Brown, The Important Book

The important thing about the rain is that it is wet. It falls out of the sky, and it sounds like rain, and makes things shiny, and it does not taste like anything, and is the color of air. But the important thing about the rain is that it is wet.

The important thing about snow is that it is white. It is cold, and light, and falls softly out of the sky. It is bright, and the shape of tiny stars and crystals. It is always cold. And it melts. But the important thing about snow is that it is white.

The important thing about the sky is that it is always there. It is true that it is blue, and high, and full of clouds, and made of air. But the important thing about the sky is that it is always there.

The important thing about you is that you are you. It is true that you were a baby, and you grew, and now you are a child, and you will grow into a man. But the important thing about you is that you are you.

Jon, Jean, Jan, Jake, JB, Jon-Jon, and Goobs-

It is true that you were once a baby, and you grew into a man. Your eyes were blue and you had the most beautiful smile we’ve ever seen.

You were a phenomenal athlete. You were in the goal when history was made, and were a national champion. But none of that came easily. Whether it was five-hour road trips for one-on-one lessons with the Goalie Man or 21 credit hours completed in one summer, you worked hard for everything you accomplished. You approached these accomplishments with a humility that very few people possess.

You were selfless and loyal and gave to others with compassion and without hesitation. You treated every friend like your best friend and the way you treated family is the way everyone should treat family.

You brought Sara and I pizza at 3’o’clock in the morning, installed “surround sound” in the back room for Pa, and somehow managed to get Mom wherever she was going safely even when you were “Textin’ and drivin’, makin’ Ma mad!”

You were a neighbor, a friend, a teammate, a cousin, a brother, a son, and now, you are an angel. But the most important thing about you is that you are you, and you will always be you to us.

We love you, and you will forever hold a special place in our hearts. You are watching over us all now, and there is no one we would rather have looking after and protecting us.

Sharing the Banana

I never thought about going to my brother's calling hours and funeral before last week. I woke up this morning thinking about how long the next two days would be. How unbearable they would be. Picking up an 8x10 for his casket this morning only reinforced that.

But my cousin texted me and reminded me that "You will never be surrounded by this many people who love you and your family. You are not alone these next two days. There is no doubt they will suck but there will be just as much love in that room as there has been pain." She's right. One of the first long days we spent in the hospital waiting room, we found ourselves having trouble eating (not a problem that has ever occurred in our family). I tried to eat a banana for breakfast. I couldn't finish it. I gave it to my sister to finish. She couldn't finish it either. Finally, that same cousin who sent me the previous text took the last two bites.

It may take three of us to finish a banana, and it may take a village to get through the next day, but we will carry each other through it as we've been doing since this awful thing started.

Maybe a Protein Shake Would Help?

One of my favorite Jon stories happened one morning when I was sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast. He came downstairs, shirtless, ready to continue his summer work out routine that he had started a week earlier.

"You always want to start out the day with a high-protein breakfast," he said, talking more to himself than to me. "And what's more high-protein than a protein shake?"

"Nice," I replied, and went back to eating and reading the newspaper.

"Let me show you what a REAL protein shake looks like." He started pulling random boxes and jars out of the pantry and refrigerator.

"First, protein powder. You know, for the protein. Milk. For the calcium. Peanut butter. For more protein. Ice cream to cool it down with some more calcium. Some eggs. Even more protein. And chocolate syrup." He paused. "Because it's delicious." 

The blender was filled to the top. "And finally, to mix it. Highest setting. Let the protein begin."

When he started the blender, he looked right at me with his cheesy smile and started shaking it and chanting "Protein!" while it blended. He looked like he was a roid-raging bodybuilder. Unfortunately for him, the shaking caused the top of the blender to break and chocolate peanut butter protein shake sprayed all over his face and the rest of the kitchen.

He looked at me. "Oh good. There's still some left in the bottom..."

Family

When I was teaching, a common beginning-of-the-year activity was to have the kids draw a picture and write about their families. I remember talking about it with more experienced teachers in planning who emphasized telling the kids to only include their IMMEDIATE family. If you didn't, they would include everyone they know- their parents, their aunts and uncles, the kid next door, the man they saw picking his nose on the bus...

I've known for a long time that I'm a part of the best family in the world. I would apologize to the other families I've spent time with, but every time I leave someone else's house or family function, I can't help but realize how awesome we are. I think about how genuinely caring my parents are, how funny my brother and sister are, how warm and welcoming my aunts and uncles and grandparents are (even if we sometimes act a little bit more inappropriately than we should).

After sitting in a hospital waiting room for six days, I've let go of that need to limit the definition of family to the ones sharing the same roof and last name. I still believe that I'm part of the best family of the world, but that family is not just the people I spend Christmas and Thanksgiving with. It's more than the people invited to weddings and graduation parties and family birthday parties. It encompasses a group of people that feels the triumphs and disappointments of my immediate family, a group that rushes to share in our joint happiness and hurt.

My family is the community that knows where we live and where we work. The people who went to elementary and middle and high school with us, who watched us compete from the stands and read about us in the newspaper. It's the students of my parents and the teachers of my siblings and me. It's the coaches and the teammates and the colleagues, the bank tellers and the grocery store workers and the bartenders. Our small town can seem like too much to bear, but at times like these it is a force of incredible support.

My family is the neighbors that watched us as we grew up. The kids who played Fox and the Hounds every night of the summer, who played in our playhouse and swam in our pool. It's the people who lent us money for the Hokey Pokey truck, the ones who pet Tuffy as they walked by. It's those who sat in our kitchen all hours of the night, who drank beer at "Lou's" and by our firepit. The ones who came by for our "town meetings."

My family is the friends who might as well be family, who have reached out over hundreds and thousands of miles to send their love and support. They are the ones who traded reward points for hotel rooms, who picked through our underwear drawers, who somehow made us laugh. They have sat with us in the waiting in silence, knowing that it may be just what we need.

My family is the teammates that played with Jon and Kristin and me. My college coach always told us that you have your friends, and then you have your teammates. Every e-mail ended with "Stay strong, stay together" and I have never seen that more true than the past few days. Strings of lacrosse players, volleyball players, and runners have sent thoughts, prayers, embarrassing pictures... everything you could think of. They remind me of the importance of friendship and camaraderie, the need for support and perseverance. Teammates do not care whether they competed with you or against you. An East High lacrosse player carried in the West High victory poster into Jon's hospital room. THAT's family.

As horrible as the past week has been, I've been carried by the strength of a thousand honorary sisters, brothers, aunts, and uncles. And I cannot thank you enough.

An Open Letter

As many of you may know, my little brother Jonny was admitted to Strong Memorial Hospital on Wednesday morning with a traumatic brain injury. I came from Boston on Wednesday evening and have been here since then. My mom started a Caring Bridge website to update our friends and family on Jon's progress, which you can access here.

I want to start by thanking everyone who has come to Strong to see Jon and our family. The love and support we have gotten in the past two days is incredible. Thousands of people have visited Jon's website and hundreds have posted their thoughts and prayers. This has been an extremely challenging time for us and it is a comfort to have so many people behind us. It's as if our already large family has expanded exponentially. Yesterday, we took over most of the ICU waiting room and the Ronald McDonald House common area. There is enough food to feed an army and enough love to fill our hurting hearts. I literally have never seen so many chocolate chip cookies in one place in my life (although they're diminishing by the minute).

I've always done better in writing than I have in person, so I'm trying to say to Jon what I do not have the strength to say when I am with him. Although the doctors say that he can hear us, I also believe that he has limited internet access to my blog. Don't ask me how- I just know. This letter is to you.

---

Goobs,

I'll start with my most common adage during a close game- keep your composure. Composure is the calm and control we all have inside of us, something that you have filling you up to the brim. You have the composure, the strength, and the patience to make it through this difficult fight. Any composure you lack is coming from God, who can hear all the people praying for you and is giving you strength in spite of the time you fell asleep during Christmas midnight mass (it was so long ago, after all).

Know that we are all here for you, praying and pulling for you. Just like you have always been here for the rest of us, with a joke or a smile or a chicken wing pizza. We're returning the countless, selfless things that you have done for so many others, things that are appreciated more than you could ever know. I know you can hear the (bad) jokes we are making, see the smiles we make because we know you can hear them. I wish I could bring you a wang sub with extra blue cheese, wrapped up fresh from Aniello's.

More than anything, remember that you are a fighter. You thrive in close, important games and this is your closest and most important one yet (although your last East West game is up there). You will get through this. Because at the end of the day, we're just a bunch of regular people, hanging out with a National Champion. Continue fighting like the champion you are. I love you.

Love,
Sari

What Did You Learn Today?

When I was teaching, I used to make my kids share what they learned at our end of the day meeting. Maybe it was because my parents made me tell them what I learned in school at dinner every night, but mostly because it was a good measure of whether they were paying attention to me or to the cap eraser people game they all played in their desks. Now that I'm in law school, I feel like I should keep the tradition going by telling my roommates the legal subtleties I picked up on that day. For example:

• If I can prove negligence by slipping on a banana peel in a grocery store, I'd probably be able to pay for law school with the damages
• I cannot, in fact, rig a spring-loaded shotgun to protect my abandoned farmhouse down the road
• About 90% of disputed contracts occur at either (a) the company Christmas party after several rounds of egg nog or (b) the local pub over frothing pints of ale (according to my contracts professor)
• The difference between sans serif and serif fonts (I'm really not sure why that's necessary to become a lawyer, but oh well)

There you have it, Mom. One thing from each class. Isn't it just riveting?

The Crime Dog

One of the things that convinced my parents I should go to law school (I admit, it took me longer to convince myself) was when I talked them into getting a dog. I was eleven. Most normal kids (like my brother and sister) succeed at doing so by whining incessantly until someone throws their hands up and says, "Fine! You can get one!" Kristin and Jon did plenty of that, but I took another route. I wrote a persuasive essay, complete with a chart designating certain dog-related responsibilities to different family members. Instead of begging, I handed them the sheets of lined paper, folded my hands, and waited for them to read it. I swear I remember one of them whispering to the other, "She's weird."

Even though we were visiting family friends out of town and were two weeks away from starting school, it worked. We brought home a five-pound Chow mix runt, who we briefly named Delilah. Until we realized "she" had a wiener. So we changed his name to Tuffy.

Tuffy was so small as a puppy that he could dive underneath our coffee tables.

Tuffy gained half a pound a day, turning into a big, furry, bulk of a dog with a penchant for perking his ears up at trespassing cats, never actually catching one. My dad trained him to sit, stay, lay down, and shake. The biggest training accomplishment, though, goes to Kristin, who went through two Supersize McDonald's french fries teaching him to "Speak."

Tuffy was a fixture on our front porch for the last thirteen years, either perched on his dog bed or sprawled underneath our front bushes. He barked at the mailman without fail, but never at the Aniello's delivery guy. He got sprayed by a skunk on three separate occasions, never remembering that his little black and white friends caused him (and us) so much suffering. When he was young and energetic, he would sprint through the rooms of our downstairs floor, running around chairs and under tables. He'd stop and stare up at you, unmoving, his butt in the air and front paws down. One movement on your part and he'd go back to running around. His hallmark? The tufts of fur he shed without fail in the springtime (except that one time my dad gave him a haircut that looked more like a lawnmower accident).

Over the past few years, he's slowed down. A lot. He stopped running around the house, stopped wagging his tail at people walking by, even stopped getting excited at the proclamation of "Cat!" I know change is a part of life, but it didn't make it any easier to come to terms with the fact that Tuffy had to be put down this morning. It's like losing part of my childhood, a favorite photo album of family memories. He saw curfews broken, friendships made. He watched Kristin sneak out of the house. He was there the night Jon had that party. He never saw me do anything wrong because I never broke the rules. He barked at the four'o'clock paper boy every morning and howled at the six'o'clock Dresser Rand horn every night. He always knew when we were eating dinner. Always.

When we were younger, he had hundreds of nicknames. Tuff. Scruff. Gruffkin. Tuffaluffagus. The Gruffster. My personal favorite? One Jon made up- Tuff McGruff the Crime Dog. And now the Crime Dog is going to the big farm in the sky where there are no chinchillas to drive him crazy, where he can chase cats and skunks without worrying about fences or stink, and where his meals will always include a little bit of steak. We'll always miss you.

Love ya buddy... :(

Grade One to One L

Moving from first grade to first year law is quite the jump, but I have to say that the transition has been less rocky than I initially thought. The idea of being cold-called in class is scary, but less scary than being on call to a bunch of six-year-olds most of the day, every day. I can handle my odds with ease after two years of that. It's crazy how differently my first week of law school has gone in comparison to my first week of teaching. That was a wild display of chaos, inexperience, and completely false expectations. Not that I think law school will be a walk in the park... I'm sure the anxiety and insecurity will come in due time. I'm wondering whether it's easier to get the horrific out of the way early, or to know it's lurking somewhere in the future. I guess the jury's still out on that one (hah! Law jokes!).

I went to the gym for the first time today, overwhelmed because BU's gym is huge. I walked around aimlessly looking for day lockers and feeling like a freshman (how I've felt most of the week) when all of a sudden I heard some yelling echoing down one of the hallways next to the pool. I looked through the door and saw a short, young-ish man with one hand over his head.

"First grade! You have five seconds to get in a line behind me! Five... four..."

Six-year-olds with wet hair sopping the backs of their shirts pulled at their clothes uncomfortably. The countdown didn't stop them from whipping their towels in spirals on the ground, scuffing wet shoes on the floor, or looking in awe at their surroundings. One girl seemed more concerned about finding her friend Stella-

"Where is she?!" she proclaimed to the teacher's dismay.

-than getting in line.

Don't get me wrong. I miss my kids. I miss parts of teaching. But you could not pay me a million dollars to take first-graders on a field trip to the pool. I could only smile at the teacher and hold the door as the line straggled past.

*Side note: why doesn't this class have a door holder as a class job?! Rookie mistake.

On the Other Side of the Mason-Dixon

Orientation starts tomorrow, and aside from my North Carolina driver's licence, I'm pretty close to being a Yankee again. In the midst of all the anxiety about all these new chapters in my life (excuse the cliche, I've been in the car too long today), I'm finding myself nostalgic for certain parts of good ol' Dixie. Shall I list what I miss?

• Chick-fil-A. Especially on Sunday, when no one in the country can have it.
• Fried pickles. A Southern delicacy.
• 80+ degrees. The weather up here is equivalent to Carolina December, and I'm not sure I'm ready for that.
• Ya'll. Nothing but the cheesy "you guys" or vague and cold plural "you."
• Four (or more) different country radio stations. Or any radio stations, given that I've been in upstate New York for the past week.
• People of the South. I mean the people I knew, not the strangers. I miss my friends.
• Leisurely driving. Maybe use a turn signal, maybe don't. Slow down in the passing lane so people can read your vanity plate (every other car has one). People drive too fast in Massachusetts to make vanity plates worth it.

I'm sure there's more than that, but it's all my tired brain can handle right now. Back to being a student tomorrow.

Two Weeks Notice

To Whom It May Concern:

I am writing to inform you of my intent to resign from my position of summer laziness at the close of business on Monday, September 6, 2011 (which ironically falls on Labor Day, a national holiday on which no business aside from relaxing with friends and choice beverages will take place). In spite of the many positive aspects of my current situation, I have been offered the opportunity to go into unspeakable amounts of debt so that I can do nothing but read and highlight what I read without break for the next three years of my life. I have thoroughly enjoyed the time I have spent skimming shallow beach novels, watching trashy TV On Demand, taking health risks by absorbing UVA/UVB rays, and sleeping without setting an alarm and/or allowing natural light to wake me.

I will continue to faithfully execute the duties of this post for the remainder of my contract, including the previously planned trip to Painted Post, NY where I will close out my partnership with the late summer sun and tanning season and shadow the carefree retirement lifestyle of my parents. I appreciate the lack of structure and blissfully empty days with which you have provided me, and leave with nothing but the utmost respect and gratitude of my time here.

Sincerely,
The Lazy Bum

P.S.- Do I have to go?

Wait, I'm Not a Teacher?

Hold up. Looking at the date when I posted that last blog brought on the heavy realization that I am NOT starting the teacher workdays with the rest of my old colleagues and TFA corps members. As much as I know that I do not belong in the classroom, it's a hard thing to let go of. It's losing a part of my identity. It's changing the verb tense I use when people ask what I do.

I was a teacher.

A few weeks ago, I was browsing the book section in Target for my next summer read. I had tried to convince myself to read dry, boring books to prepare for school (hah) and ended up "just looking" under the Top Beach Reads category. An older women saw me and ended up recommending a book she'd just read, recommended to her by a stranger in a book store. We started chatting and I mentioned that I had a lot of free time having the summer off because...

I paused, contemplated what I would say next and proceeded.

"I teach first grade."

Teach. Not taught. The woman instantly lit up, and I instantly went crazy in my head. Why would I lie about that? I don't WANT to teach anymore. And yet I was still longing to hold on to that part of myself, even to some stranger in Target.

Of course, the woman had been a first grade teacher for 30 years. Of course, she told me that she would say many prayers for me that I had a great class roster this year (we are in South Carolina, by the way). Of course, she had to tell me that she could tell "by the look in my eyes that I love it."

You mean the look of sheer panic at what I just told you? The utter confusion of why I would pretend to still be a teacher to someone I've never met before? The frantic damage control with which I acted after I blurted out that lie?

Oh right. Panic, confusion, damage control. All key characteristics of teachers... I see where you got that from now.

Back To School, Remixed

Teacher becomes the student.

Sorry for the cliche, and sorry for the wait. Blogging has been the least of my concerns this summer (clearly) for some very simple reasons, the biggest reason being that I don't really have anything to blog about. There have been a couple things here and there that have grabbed my attention, but blogging about them would have gotten in the way of my main goal of not taking anything too seriously. Some of those things I'll touch on later. Most of them I won't.

But today, reality struck and my brain needs to get back in the swing of things. As my mother so lovingly reminded me in a text the other day:

"One 24 word blog in over a month, that is REALLY pathetic. I hope you remember how to read and write when you go to law school."

I hope so too. I got my schedule and section for classes and finally realized that I'm moving to Boston and starting school in just two weeks. The weird thing is that I'm having a hard time registering the fact that this year, back to school doesn't mean shamelessly buying Crayola 24-packs for thirteen cents in Target. It doesn't mean having teaching nightmares about leave hundreds of pounds of raw meat in my classroom all summer (which happened last year). The bright-eyed, bushy-tailed student this year is ME, not the little six-year olds scuffing their shoes down the hallway.

It's a weird shift to make. The difference is that instead of freaking out about being ready, I'm surprisingly chilled out. I opened my first Word document in over a month yesterday. The extent of my prep work has been working on my tan, getting over 10 hours of sleep a night, and reading one nonfiction book. Even now, with a lot to do, I have no checklist, no charts, no spreadsheets. I haven't had any law school nightmares, although I did have a teaching one (weird, right?). Maybe it's becoming impossible to faze me after teaching first grade (which seems unlikely, but I'll take it).

Forgotten Gem

I miss those little ones. Even when they forget the words. Even when they change what I think of when I think of Nelly.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FkJSPL_1uLQ

The Real Adventure

Is Skyping my mom. I did it earlier today in a bout of boredom after Jack left for work and was reminded of all the things she does that always keep the person she's Skyping guessing. Like...

...the fact that her webcam works about 14% of the time. I'd like to attribute it to technical difficulties, but I think the real reason is her inability to find the "Add Video" button. This means that instead of truly videochatting, I'm stuck staring at a tiny screen image of myself in the bottom right hand corner of my screen knowing that my mom is watching me, kind of like a stalker.

...her understanding that just because I can't see her means I can't hear her. Whenever she picks up the call, she's always yelling. Usually, I can hear the telltale intro music to Law and Order blasting in the background. The loudness is compounded by her tendency to add a vowel to the end of most words and hold them out for extended periods of time ("Sariiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!").

...the random things that happen during the interaction.

In the middle of a story, it suddenly sounded as if her computer had been picked up by a tornado.

"What are you doing?" I shouted over the noise. It stopped.

"Oh, I was just cleaning out my keyboard. You know, with one of those air sprayers."

Not exactly the right time, Mom.

At least it's always entertaining.