STILL GRILLING SEASON

The students arrive Wednesday.  Tuesday I sit in meetings all day long.  I sit in so many meetings that my ass actually falls asleep more often than Bill Clinton during a Hillary Clinton speech.  Somewhere mid-superintendent spiel, my lower back seizes up and I squirm uncontrollably in my seat.  And this is only the first two and a half hours.  I still have three more meetings and four more hours to go.

I cannot even stay late to get organized.  I'll have to get organized at home because I must get to the grocery store and have dinner ready before my kiddo/fellow boarder has to leave for lacrosse.  At the store I buy some 93% fat-free hamburg and some steak tips.  I'm dying for red meat.

I decide we need a cook-out.  I mean, the students will arrive in the morning, so this truly is the Last Hurrah of Summer.  I don't care that it's 67 degrees out.  I don't care that it's drizzling.  We are having a cook-out, damnit.

I make the patties (a little over 1/3 pound each), season them, and toss those fat boys onto the flaming hot grill.  As long as I keep the top closed, they won't get wet from the rain.  I might get soaked, but they won't, and that's the important part.  By the time my kiddo arrives home, smoky grill aroma is permeating the neighborhood.

Take THAT, neighbors!  Hahahahaha.  Rain won't stop us.  We are GRILLING!

Not going to lie.  The burgers are perfect.  Amazing.  My son thinks so, too, because he scarfs down two cheeseburgers in the time it takes me to finish my hamburger.  Nope, rain isn't going to stop us from having one more barbecue before my social life is completely over.  Starting Wednesday, though, I'll be so tired by 3:00 p.m. that I'll be lucky to make it home without napping at my desk first. 

Sounds like macaroni and cheese dinners are in my future.  But, wait.  I do have those steak tips, and ... it still is grilling season.

SO LONG, SUMMER

I don't know why I bother listening to the weather anymore.  Today is supposed to be crappy - rainy, windy, and all around poopy.  Today is my last official day of summer break, and it's sunny and damn nice out.  Figures.

Well, that's actually not true since I have already put in one and a half days at school that involved meeting with students and sitting in official professional development sessions (including the mindful whisperer who made us all crazy and anxious).  I guess my break ended a week ago.  But, this is the supposedly "official" end of summer for me and my colleagues. 

By the time you read this, I will either be getting ready to leave the house, on my way to school, already in meetings, or on my way to do all those pesky errands I have ignored, errands like resupplying my OTC meds and getting my own personal stash of antibacterial hand wash.  I am not going to spend my last free day running errands.  No way!

Instead, I am spending the entire day in my pajamas (yoga pants and an old shirt) and doing the schoolwork that I have been walking past all summer.  I re-edit and re-send some grammar tests that I tried to edit last week but was probably sipping wine at the time.  I think they're okay now.  I type up some stuff for the interactive notebooks the students will be doing this year, and then I add it to the stuff I already have prepped for the exemplar versions.  I'm not just taking on one giant change to my curriculum this year; I'm taking on two major changes, and the end result had better be more prep work and less correcting.  I don't mind the creative side of this job, but the general maintenance side of it blows chunks big time.

After I print out several copies of everything, I start putting the exemplar interactive notebooks together.  These will be evolving works in progress, but there is some groundwork to be done, like tables of contents and such.  I need glue sticks, and, luckily, I have about a dozen half-dried out glue sticks in my personal desk here at home.  I start rooting around in the drawer when I discover something even better.

Yes, there really is something better than a glue stick.  The stuff I find is even better than white liquid glue we used to let dry on our hands then see if we could peel it off whole.

I find RUBBER CEMENT.  Best of all, it's not even dried out and rubbery; it is still gooey and snotty and smells to high heaven.  Yup, this is the stuff of old-school projects that we could all use to legally get high.

I end up using all of the rubber cement that's left in the bottle, but I get the exemplars all set up and ready to go.  I have a slight headache, but for some strange reason, I'm very content and don't have the least care in the world that I have wasted an entire "last day" on work-related junk.  As a matter of fact, when my head clears, I might even pour myself a glass of wine or make myself a Caffe Moka (hard stuff) shake -- I am supposed to be upping my calcium intake, after all.

Yes, the work is done, my bag is packed for school, and I'm ready to relax.  Bonus: I'm still in my pajamas at dinner time.  Truly, it's a shame I'll have to shower and get dressed in normal clothes tomorrow.  Oh well.  183 more work days to go and then I'll get a re-do. 

So long, summer.  I miss you terribly when you're gone.

PEANUTS UNO

My daughter is having a tough week at work.  She's covering extra shifts, filling in for people on vacation, and pulling double shifts.  On top of all of this, things are not going as planned at work in every bad way they can possibly go.

When she texts me to invite me over for dinner, part of me feels guilty.  She insists that she is making a boiled dinner whether I come over or not because she is craving brisket and veggies.  She cooks the best brisket ever, so of course I agree.  Plus, it will just be the two of us, and that doesn't happen very often.  I pack up a bottle of Chianti and head on over.

I also bring her some flowers.  She is in a new apartment, and she still hasn't finished furnishing and decorating it yet, so I figure after the week she has had, a little pop of color might brighten up her space.  She loves the color purple, so I bring her a purple bouquet and a thick glass vase.

After dinner I ask her to play a game with me.  You see, at my house, I have games, games, and more games.  Some of these games I've had since I was a kid, like the original Masterpiece Art Auction game.  Some of them I found online and replaced the originals, like the original Barbie Queen of the Prom.  Others I have the originals for but had to replace parts, like buying replacement stones for the original Mancala board (although the original stones, done in glittery milk-like glaze, will never truly be replaced by the modern glassy versions).  I have a touch of old and new: old Mille Bornes game, new Rat-A-Tat Cat game; old version of Chinese checkers; new Quiddler.

I am shocked to discover that my daughter has no games, not even a deck of cards, at her house.  We run up the street to a pharmacy store, but all they have to offer is Uno.  They have several versions of Uno, but it's still all Uno.  That is, until she spots the Peanuts Gang version.  Without even batting an eyelash, we are out of the store in a flash, holding the prized Peanuts Uno in our hot hands.

It takes a few rounds to get used to these cards and their weird instructions, but pretty soon my daughter is soundly kicking my ass at Peanuts Uno.  I've got to get her games stocked, though.  Maybe for her birthday we'll take a trip to Toys 'R' Us and stock up on a few classics:  Battleship, Monopoly, Yahtzee, Cards Against Humanity.  In the meantime, Charlie Brown and Linus and the gang will have to keep her company.

WINE OF THE WEEK

Back on the wine trail finally after suffering with the plague for three weeks.  I almost forget what it feels like to be healthy.  So much for my summer break - I'm just healthy enough to go back and have the germy children breathe all over me.

It's okay, though.  I'm ready.  I heard that alcohol wards off bad germs, so I'm back at the wine tastings.

Recently I've touted whites; I've touted reds.  Today I have a very strong white wine contender and a very strong red blend contender.  In the end, though, I am quite surprised to see a Rosé smacking down all the others at the table.

Gobelsburg Gruner Rosé is a 2015 Austrian beauty.  The nose is interesting, a little like honey, without the overpowering scent that a lot of the darker Rosés have.  This Rosé is fruity, citrusy, and a little earthy.  The sommelier claims it "points squarely in the Burgundy direction," and that may well be true.  However, the Gobelsburg Rosé has something that puts it right up there with my favorite, Mapreco:

Fizz.  This Rosé has a touch of fizz.  "Not enough to make you burp," the pourer says, and he is right, but enough to zoom this wine right up to the top of my recommendation list for this week.  Even better, it retails under $10 a bottle.  You can't go wrong, and with a few good weeks of summer left (damn the school calendar ... it's not mid-September yet), this is exactly the kind of wine to keep that summer frame of mind.

SPICING LIFE UP

It's time.  I have finally out-spiced my cabinet and have to order a spice rack.

It doesn't hit me when I discover four containers of cinnamon.  Nope.  And it doesn't hit me when I double up on tumeric, onion powder, ground cloves, nor allspice.  I am even disgusted having to pull the entire shelf apart just to find some nutmeg.

Nope.  It finally hits me when I try to find the paprika.  Truthfully, I cannot find a damn thing.

I get on the Internet, find a great deal on spice racks, and send in my payment.  Now, I wait.  In a way, though, I'm not sure I want the spice rack to come in.  I've no idea where in my small kitchen I'll put a spice rack, anyway.

I don't care!

I am going to get organized if it kills me."Spice" it all up, so to speak.  Then, perhaps I can cook and bake again with a little bit of flavor and flair.  In the meantime, though, I want you all to know that I really did buy pumpkin pie spice, even though I have all the spices necessary plus some doubles.  Oh, and does anyone need any cream of tartar? If you do, I can hook you up for a really, really good spice ... er, price.

POUTINE POT BELLIES

Finally my pals and I get a chance to go to Montreal's Old Port.  This is where the eclectic shops are, it's right along the waterfront, there is plenty of live entertainment, and the architecture is amazing, second only to the magnificent churches.  The day before when we'd stopped on Church Street in Burlington, VT, our patio mate Beth, the young woman with the air guard and the air show, recommended we try poutine.  This information is stored loosely inside of our craniums.

I have my eye on a couple of prizes, so I have a tiny bit of shopping to do, and then we're going to find a place to have dinner.  We do a complete perimeter walk because that's what we do, and a couple of restaurants catch our attention, but the tables on the cobblestone streets seem just like Boston redux.  We can pretty much have the same experience at home.

We are walking nonchalantly by a restaurant that is playing some techno music, certainly not our vibe.  Well, to be honest, I've liked techno since it first came out in its experimental form in the late 60's, but this stuff is straight-on clubbing music.  Two hostesses greet us on the street, trying to convince us to come in and eat.  The name of the restaurant: Montreal Poutine.

We think maybe it's too modern for us old ladies, and we thank the girls, joke about being right back, and shuffle along with our shopping items and our oversized pocketbooks.A quick circle of the block, and we have decided that yes, we will try Montreal Poutine because, damnit, we are in Montreal, and Beth said we should try the poutine.

We surprise the hostesses as we return, and we are ushered inside with menus.  Only thing is we are not inside at all.  Instead of sitting out on the sidewalk under an awning, we are nestled between several multi-story stone buildings, a little grotto in the middle of a palazzo-like setting.  We are inside-outside and outside-inside.  Trees grow near us and hang over us, and birds fly freely overhead as if we are eating in an elegant, ancient aviary.

It is, quite simply, one of the coolest places I have ever been.

One friend orders a brisket sandwich, while the other friend and I order versions on poutine (french fries, cheese curd, gravy, and meat).  I have to admit, poutine is one of those perfect meals that feels like I'm getting away with eating impolitely at the table.  We were raised to believe that dragging our food through leftover gravy or sauce was not acceptable behavior at the table, but I always liked to sop up leftover meat juices with a roll or with my potatoes.  Now, someone is serving me a giant heap of french fries covered in gravy, and I'm not even going to be yelled at for it.

A couple of drinks and full meals later, we are ready to toddle back out to the Old Port, back to the subway.  There has been a water main break, though, so the Metro is shut down.

No matter.

It's a beautiful night, there's a full moon, and we are less than two miles from our hotel.  Montreal is a safe and decently clean city.  After verifying this information and our route home (turn right then turn left and walk up the hill) with two police officers, we enjoy even more sights and sounds of this spectacular city.

Besides, we have to work off that poutine some way; might as well be while night-seeing, as well.  We don't want to come home to Boston with Montreal Poutine Pot Bellies.

BOTANICAL GARDENS TELEPORTATION

One of our many Montreal stops is the Botanical Gardens.  This place is so incredibly massive that after hours on the property, we've covered maybe half of the displays.  It's daunting how sprawling and magnificent it is.  Casual visitors could complete the grounds in a day; not so casual visitors need two days minimum to do this place justice.

Adjacent to the Olympic Park and Tower, the garden seems removed from the hubbub of the city.  It is amazingly quiet here, with places to sit, places to hide, and places to meditate.  There are water displays, bridges, stonework, ponds, and the amazing differences between some of the plant areas make it seem like we are transitioning to different worlds, all within a day's stroll.

With all of the plants and the flowers and the trees, my favorite part turns out to be something we find by taking an accidental turn.  My friend points to a small, almost obscure path, and says, "This looks interesting," so we start up the hill.  Before we realize it, we have left the beautiful, lush garden behind and entered a world of rocks and mosses and sand and cacti and, surprisingly enough, a waterfall.

It is incredible here.  No one else is wandering around here except for us.  It seems stark by a glance but is ripe with beauty upon close inspection.  The rocks form a labyrinth of trails that cross over one another, and the cliffs around us buffer us completely from any other noise.  It is silent here, so introspective; a writer's dreamland.

We do not finish the Botanical Gardens.  We simply do not have the energy left on such a hot day.  Our feet are begging us to give up, and we still have the Olympic Tower to conquer.  Another day, perhaps, another few days, even.  I'll be ready next time, though.  To those who've never been -- Be prepared.  It's the closest you'll come to being teleported without all the messy particle-ization to worry about.  More pictures below this blog: