GETTING PUNKED AT THE PACKIE

I live a few miles from a liquor store, or, as we like to call them around here, The Packie (short for the old reference to these "package" stores). I have gone here off and on for a while, more recently since I moved closer a couple of years ago. Anyway, the point is that I know the store, and the people kind of know me by face.

On Wednesday afternoon, I decide to stop by on my way home from work. I need a few things and this store has several different kinds of bubbly in small bottles. Yes, I buy the small bottles because they don't explode at me when I open them, and because it's just me so the small bottles don't go flat in between mimosas. 

When I arrive at the counter, a gentleman around my age is behind the counter talking to another employee, a younger guy, about how he used to belong to a union. "The best union," he says proudly, "the very best union of any of them." I know instantly that he is not talking about the national teachers' union because that's my union, and, quite frankly, the teachers' union sucks as anything other than a political mouthpiece. The older man keeps talking, gives me a side-glance, and starts ringing up my order.

MAN:  "ID?"

ME: "Excuse me?"

MAN: "Yeah, I need to see your ID."

At this point, I turn to look behind me. I mean, it's a slow day, a Wednesday afternoon, and I may very well be the only shopper in the entire place. I look back at the guy, who is staring at me intently.

ME: "Am I on Candid Camera?"

MAN: "No. I just need to see your ID, please."

ME: "Are you punking me?"

I have my wallet in my hand to pay, but there is no way I'm taking my license out for him, not because I am trying to be rude. I am quite simply in shock. I know when I go to the Boston Garden for hockey games, every single vendor is required to ask every single patron for an ID every single time. But this ... this is Twilight Zone shit. I shove my wallet toward him with my ID still firmly behind the plastic sleeve that covers it. He sputters and stares then continues ringing me up. Maybe that great union he belonged to was the Welders' Union, and his corneas have fried.

MAN: Uhhhh, just tell everyone you got carded today, I guess.

ME: Yeah, I guess so, indeed.

I shake my head, hoping to be on the road and driving before the apparently blind old guy leaves work and gets behind the wheel of his own vehicle. Then, I take my purchases and head to the car. Now, let's be serious here. There is no way that guy mistook me for a twenty year old. Nope. No way, no how. All I can imagine is that the two cashiers were bored out of their skulls with such a slow afternoon. It probably went like this --

(I walk into the store. I am the only shopper. I disappear down the aisle to the back of the store.)

OLD GUY: Hey, let's bet on the broad's age.

YOUNG GUY: How will we know who wins?

OLD GUY: Well, whoever waits on her, let's card her.

YOUNG GUY: What?! She's like seventy. Maybe seventy-five!

OLD GUY: Nah. I'll bet she's like fifty-six-ish.

YOUNG GUY: Are we doing an over-under, or do we have to low-ball like on The Price is Right?

OLD GUY: Whoever is closest in years. Doesn't matter over-under.

YOUNG GUY: Ten bucks?

OLD GUY: Yeah, but let's pay it out in lottery tickets.

YOUNG GUY: You're on!

That's how I imagined it because my gray hair and wrinkles surely give me away. It's a fun game, and I'm sure they both had a big laugh at my expense. No matter. I got the bubbly, and I am enjoying my purchases. It's a win-win in my book.

A LITTLE BIT CHILLY

It's a tad chilly up here in the Northeast. Well,  it's not "too cold for Dunkins iced coffee" chilly, but chilly, just the same. Although by morning the wind seems to have abated, the overnight conditions caused wind chills like we've never felt before. It wasn't a steady wind, either, so the occasional blasts of eerie whooshing were a bit unnerving.

Having calm restored this morning is helpful, but the temperature is still hovering around -14 degrees when I wake up. I decide that today will be an indoor day. I read a book, work on a few puzzles, do some knitting, light several candles, have the gas fireplace cranking, and bake bread. This all sounds remarkably productive, except that I am not really attacking my to-do list in any way, shape, or form.

I suppose that's okay, though. I'm not out causing mayhem, I am not in need of a trail-side rescue, and I haven't had to call AAA. As Saturdays go, it's reasonably sedate, and I discover that I don't truly mind this at all. Not to mention it, but I will, the bread came out reasonably well, especially after melting butter on it. 

Later this week it may hit 50 degrees, which would make it feel like a completely different season and tempt many of us to break out of t-shirts, beach chairs, and flip-flops. It's amazing more of us don't develop walking pneumonia during weather swings like this. But, if anyone does, I can send you some bread to go with your soup. If you don't mind, though, please wait until it's a wee-bit warmer; it's still a little too chilly out there for me.

WHAT'S FOR DINNER?

The absolute best perk about living alone is dinner time.

Nope, I am not even lying. It's the truth. I never have to think about someone else's dietary needs, stomach schedule, or temperamental food choices. I can eat what I want when I want if I even want to eat at all.

It's pretty much amazing.

Some days I come home from work, and all I want is a plate of nachos with extra, extra, extra cheese, and I want it immediately. So, I have that plate of nachos. I'm not ruining anyone else's dinner because I live here, that is my dinner. If I want to eat at 4:00 in the afternoon or if I want to eat at 10:00 p.m., that's on me. If I feel like eating something else later, I can, and I will, because I don't have to answer to anyone.

If I want a frozen dinner, then I have that. By the way, there are some damn fine frozen meals out there that can be microwaved or cooked traditionally in the oven. I can pick something up as take-out, or plan ahead and do a crockpot meal. I can make a sandwich, if I feel like that, or sit at the table and scarf down a bowl of cereal with cold milk.

Nobody, absolutely no human for miles, is going to tell me that I can't. It's like being able to have my hand in the proverbial cookie jar all day every day. 

The other evening I couldn't decide what to do with the cooked chicken in my fridge. It was all cut up and ready to be integrated into some fancy meal, and I had a multitude of choices for the evening's menu. But, I couldn't decide. I kind of wanted something with a kick to it, but I also kind of wanted comfort food.

Hey, that's okay. I live alone, and I have appliances in my kitchen!

I broke the chicken into two dishes, then I proceeded to make a chicken pasta with pesto in one dish, and then I made chicken cordon bleu casserole in the other dish. Then, much to my glee, I ate some of each recipe for the same meal . . . on . . . the . . . same . . . plate!

I know, right? Flipping amazing. Oh, sure, the peace and quiet is nice, and sitting down to read uninterrupted is spectacular, and no one fighting over the television makes for a smooth night. Yes, even with all the possible perks (not running out of hot water, no one fights me on the thermostat, the mail is always for me, etc.), the fact that dinner is an option not a chore has been the best possible perk.

It's rough being me, but someone's got to do it, especially when the dinner gong chimes.

IMPROVISED SNOW DAY

It's snowing. Not blizzarding; rather a gentle spitting of continuous flakes, not even pace enough to coat the roads. So, of course, we do not have a district snow day. This is actually a huge relief because I want the school year to end on time. I have places to go, people to see, and things to accomplish.

The students are both excited that it is a snowy Friday and disappointed that they don't get another long weekend. Earlier, upon arrival at work, I immediately start changing my plans for the day because I know that there is no way the students are going to work diligently on a packet of story-related questions while it's snowing outside the giant windows to my room. 

Instead, we start with a cartoon video version of the short story we've been working on, complete a compare and contrast discussion about the story and the cartoon, and then we move on to group work (the dreaded story questions packet). Sometimes while we're working, I put on music in the background, usually coffee shop type jazz, and show a topical, curriculum-related picture on the Eno Board (a glorified overhead projector).

Sometimes. But not today.

Instead, I put on a video loop of a cozy fire in a fireplace. Our workspace converts into a comfy den or perhaps a family room. Either way, the phony fire feels (falsely) warm and welcoming in a classroom swirling with ideas while the snow swirls outside.

It may not be a traditional snow day, but we improvise and create our own version. It's almost as good as a real snow day, but without that abject disappointment in June for a make-up day.

RED SKIES AT ANY HOUR OF THE DAY

There is an old saying:

Red skies at night, sailors delight;

Red skies at morning, sailors take warning.

The other morning I am madly trying to get to school because I've had to change my lesson plans on the fly, and I need to make copies before everyone and their uncles and cousins descend upon the sole working copy machine. 

Of course, if I leave my house between 6:45 and 7:20, I am essentially screwed. There is a bus stop at the end of my single-access street (the one that allows me to actually get into traffic and get to my job). The first bus arrives at 6:50, then three more buses make their appearances: 7:00, 7:10, and 7:20. If I get caught in any of the bus traffic, it creates a back-up that keeps me stuck in the queue for an inordinate amount of time.

Also, I'm not sleeping well at all lately. Okay, I rarely sleep well, so I suppose this isn't a new phenomenon. But I find myself awake for no bloody-decent reason around 5:00 a.m. I play a few games on my phone, read a little bit, and generally convince myself that I should probably just get my arse up and get to school to use the copy machine. I can access the school after 6:30 a.m.. This is the impetus that gets me out of the house around 6:35 a.m. 

This is also what causes me to see the spectacular sunrise burning its way through the trees outside of my porch. I figure that I will beat the buses this morning, possibly get to use the copier, and also view a decent burst of nature's colors along the way. Win-win, right?

But then I remember. Yup. I remember that old adage about red skies in the morning. 

I also remember that every dang day is like that, sunrise or not, and I make up my own little ditty that properly conveys a more modern take:

Red skies (or any hue) at night especially if it's Friday, teachers delight;

Red skies (or any hue) in the morning any weekday, teachers take warning.

Night (regardless of sky color) is the time for the teachers to heal-eth;

Daytime (regardless of sky color) has all of the bullshit to deal with.

Not that it's any consolation, but we have had quite a bit of dreary, rainy, snowy weather this past week. This must prove the original adage to be true. It does seem, though, that lately my academic life is combusting like one giant fireball in Hell, so I appreciate nature's reminder that I'm not the only one bobbing around in the restless waves of this implosive fiery day. Somewhere out there is a sailor repeating the adage to himself, and hastily adding, "I see the safe shore, and I sure hope I reach 'er. Thank gawd the almighty that I'm not a teacher!"

TRULY POOR LIMERICKS FOR 2023

See ya later, twenty-twenty-two.

Good luck! I won't be missing you!

The season is done,

And so is your fun,.

Your bills are now all coming due.

The snowfall to date is sub-par;

The flakes have stayed minor so far.

Nature I don't trust

Into winter we're thrust.

So throw us a storm that's bizarre.

"I wish I could build a big snowman,"

I say tongue-in-cheek and with deadpan.

This I do know:

If I wish for more snow,

It will pile up as high as my rear-can.

I hope the gas doesn't get cut off

Like it might when the power is shut off.

Without any heat

It gets cold as a teat,

And then I'll be freezing my butt off.

NEW YEAR AND OLD HABITS

New Year; Old Habits.

Everyone does it. Some people do it with intention; others deny doing it, but it happens subconsciously, anyway. Yup. I am referring to the internal and external conversation commonly deemed New Year's Resolutions. 

This year I will . . . 

Instead, how about four for This year I won't . . . Think of it as my New Year in musical time. Here are my 4/4: 

This year I won't hold my tongue as often when people need to be called out. (Already practicing this as I age.)

This year I won't make up excuses for not doing things, especially at work. I'll just say "NO" and move along. (Consequently -- )

This year I won't deny myself new adventures as often, even out of my comfort zone. (This ties into being overworked and overtired, though, so it's going to be a symbiotic challenge.) 

This year I won't forget "me time" to read, write, watch TV, do crossword puzzles, randomly search the internet for bizarre stories, or whatever the hell else I feel like spending my waning time doing.

That's about as far as I am willing to compromise with 2023. I mean, honestly: 2023 could be another asshole like 2020 turned out to be. I'm not risking any hope or faith on the little brat until it has proven itself worthy.

Here's to 2023 -- may it know its damn place in the world.