Breakfast Out

Sunday evening, my husband and I realized that we didn’t have to be anywhere on Monday. That realization brought big smiles to our faces. “You want to go out for breakfast?” he asked me.

“Definitely!” I responded.

There’s a little breakfast/lunch place that we love to visit. Some would refer to it as “a hole in the wall” kind of place. Weekends are crazy busy there. People wait for an hour to get in and have a bit of comfort breakfast food.

On Monday there is no wait, we have our choice in seating. I chose the booth (wrong choice for me, read on for reason). We settle in, coffee comes quickly. I notice my usual choice is the special today, $1 off. I am tempted by the cinnamon swirled French toast, but stay with my usual. Two eggs over easy, sausage links, hash browns, plus a biscuit smothered in white sausage gravy will fill me up until dinnertime.

As we wait, sipping coffee, I notice there is a cold draft blowing on my right leg. I reach down to check if it is true or am I imagining. Yes, there is a definite draft blowing. I tell my husband about this cold air, he feels nothing. Maybe it is a draft from the windows at the booth behind me. Must be, I figure. This is an old building.

My food arrives, eating distracts me from the uncomfortable feeling from the cold draft. Once I finish, I am again noticing this cold air. I move over on the booth seat. It’s a little better. Wait, the air is following me. I move over more, if I move again I will be sitting on the floor.

My husband looks under the table. There is a vent on the floor, next to the wall. Someone has placed a magazine over the vent to block the air flow. It has been shifted, allowing air to escape. Apparently they did not like the arctic blast blowing against their leg either. With my toe, I readjust the magazine. The polar blast subsided. I sure wish I’d figured this out earlier. Next time I won’t select this booth, but if there is cold air blowing, I will look for the source rather than endure it.

photo 2 (6)

Gailey’s, where we love to go for breakfast.

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Lunch

“If I get a pizza for dinner, could I put it in the refrigerator of the kitchen, so I will have my lunch for tomorrow?” I asked the girl at the motel registration desk.

“No problem, we can do that,” she responded back to me.

“If I order a small pizza, will I have enough to make a lunch tomorrow?” I ask the waitress in the pizza place.

“Absolutely, you will have plenty for dinner tonight and lunch tomorrow,” is the response to my question.

The pizza is delicious! I smile when I think of my lunch tomorrow. Once I return to the motel, I hand over the pizza leftovers to the desk clerk. She labels the outside with my room number. Casually I think to myself that is probably not necessary. After all, how many guests make a request like this? I head to my room where I spend the evening reading slices and commenting.

The next morning, I wander down for breakfast. As I am eating, I am keeping an eye out for the person who can retrieve my pizza before I return to my room. Breakfast is finished, no person around. The door is open to the kitchen (labeled Employees Only), but I quickly pop in to grab my pizza. Hmmm, no pizza in the fridge. I step out quickly, I don’t want to look through the other appliances there.

I approach the desk and explain that they have my pizza in their fridge, could she get it for me? Sure, no problem. I follow her to the kitchen, she looks in the fridge. She looks at me puzzled. Then her face changes, she heads back to the desk. I’m thinking this is not a good sign. She hands me a card and says, “There was a little mix up last night.”

I open the card to read: “Your pizza was mistakenly taken for an associate treat. Please accept my apology. Very embarrassed.” It was signed by the employee and there was a twenty dollar bill inside.

I handed the money back to the girl and told her to return the money. She apologized profusely, I assured her it was no big deal.

Inside, I was extremely disappointed that my lunch was consumed by someone other than me. But I also had to laugh, I’m sure this lady was horrified by what she had done. Perhaps she will look a little closer at the food in the fridge next time.

Now the Work Begins

Yesterday I celebrated the fact that I am officially starting my summer vacation period. (Sorry, I don’t mean to rub it in to all of you still facing 9+ weeks in the school year.) I have fulfilled my scheduled days of working in schools for this year. (Let’s face it, you don’t want/need PD in the last quarter of the year.)

However, that does not mean I will not be working. I just won’t be working and getting a paycheck. My husband would be quick to inform you that my office is a disaster. I can’t argue that he is not correct.

I come home from one school, set their papers aside and immediately plunge into preparation for the next school. Somehow the piles have grown and been pushed from one side of the room to the other.

This may not look like much, but each folder has 5 sections and there are papers in each section.

This may not look like much, but each folder has 5 sections and there are papers in each section.

Now, I have time to sort, file, toss, and/or reorganize the massive amounts of papers and books I have accumulated throughout the year. Vacation fun won’t begin until the piles have been tamed and put back into their places. The up side is I can attack this task leisurely, no pressure to be finished in a day or even a week.

Once this task is put to bed, my vacation will start. I may dig out my beads and begin to play with creating a mess of a different type. Or perhaps I will find my stamping materials to create a year of cards. I could begin to read some of the books that I’ve been stacking on my credenza (if the sun shines warms the patio, this will be my first choice). Oh the possibilities multiply, but first I must tackle the paper. (I am not a procrastinator!)

Saturday to Celebrate

Saturday rolls around and it is time to reflect on moments of celebrations from the past week. This week I have finished all my work in schools for this school year. (So I guess you could say, my summer vacation has started. 🙂 )

I have been working three years with this one school.  As I walked into the school I noticed subtle changes from my last visit in the fall. The walls have the usual art projects and student work, but there was something more.

Papers popped up asking the question What is your favorite book? Why? Because  . . . At the bottom there were three teachers’ names. Lift the flap to find out. Under the flap you will find a picture of the teacher holding the book.

photo 2 (5) photo 1 (3)

You will find signs outside teacher’s doors stating the college they graduated from and the question Where will you go?

photo 3 (1)The fourth grade just completed a poetry unit, so they had tables displaying their poetry books.

How can you resist this book?

How can you resist this book?

Hot reads were displayed outside the rooms and even in the window of the office.

Literacy is a priority in this school.

I celebrate the literacy journey that these teachers are taking their students on.

Spine Poetry Time

Every year Travis Jonkers, at 100 Scope Notes, puts out the call for spine poetry. He creates a gallery of all submissions. The concept is to create a poem using only the spines of books stacked upon each other.

It is a delightful time to browse through the titles on my bookshelves to see what I can create. It puts titles in a whole new light when you are searching for a particular part of speech to complete the poem. If you look long enough, hard enough, you will find all types of inspiration. One day I may even go to the library to create my poems, but for now I’ll play with the books on my shelves.

Here are my submissions for this year:

spine 2

spine '14

All Right! All Write!

Last year I jumped into the pool of the All Write conference. It was better than I’d ever hoped. The sessions were great, but that wasn’t the real reason I wanted to go.

I’d been sitting on the sidelines dangling my feet into the water by reading the posts of those who attended, in years past. I thought, someday I want to go. So many slicers are there, I love meeting the person behind the words.

At first I’d discussed with my husband that perhaps we could go and then travel on to bike the trails of Michigan. That sounded okay to him, until I started talking about all the people I’d get to meet. He knew that I’d be torn, spending time with him vs. slicers. The decision was made, no biking (we’ll do that another time), go and be with the slicers.

I dived right into that water, even though it meant, 587 miles by myself in the car. I checked out a few audio books, had some music ready, and snacks to munch. The GPS guided me every mile. In no time I was in Warsaw and meeting the people who write the words I love to read.

It was the best of times and one I wanted to repeat this year. Several weeks ago I got an email from the conference saying registration was open. Could I? Should I? Would I? Absolutely! I’m ready to dive back into the water and splash about.

Sunday, I called and made my reservations at the hotel. Quickly followed by the on-line registration, and writing the check to put in the mail. Only one thing left to do, convince another slicer that she wants to go too.

I sent my email outlining possible travel plans. I got a response back saying I’ll think about it. Soon my email announced:  *****News Flash!***** I’m in, who do I make the check out to? Woohoo! My email begging her to come east worked. I am not spending time alone in the car this year. Kim of the Learning Tour Writing Stop will be joining me.

For the last two years we have met up in California, this year we will meet up in the midwest. I am so excited to have her coming with me!

Have you thought about attending? If not, what’s stopping you? Come on join the fun! Here’s a link to the flyer that you can download. Let’s make this a year to remember!

Hunters

When I left to do my weekly grocery shopping, my husband was planning on getting some yard work done. It was a rare day that allowed him to be outside preparing the yard for spring. His goal was to cut down the liriope that borders the walk to the front door.

When I returned several hours later, the liriope was only half pruned and my husband was straddling bushes holding a shovel. My neighbor, Dave, was brandishing a pitchfork in another area of the front landscaped bed. A portion of the decorative rock was shifted, the black mat was pulled back, and the ground underneath was muddy. It didn’t take me long to realize they were on a mole hunt. The bed looked like a bomb had exploded and craters were everywhere.

When my husband had started to clip the liriope, he discovered a hill of dirt had been pushed up, a sure sign of a mole’s presence. That creature is a four letter word in our household. My husband decided to take action because he knew the runs were fresh. Dave came over to help. As they plotted their mode of attack they could see the ground moving. Immediately they sprang into action with the hose. This little fellow was about to experience a water slide. When the hunters heard the rock moving, Dave began to stab the ground with the pitchfork, hoping to impale the critter. My husband was digging to try to unearth the unfortunate mole.

When I arrived, they were frozen over the landscape, listening for any sound, looking for any movement. They were satisfied they had been successful. I went into the house, and the hunters were pondering their next move when the ground began to move again.

This time a grandson of Dave’s had joined the group. He began stabbing the ground with the pitchfork and when he pulled it out something was attached. Dave attacked with the grass clippers. My husband grabbed a bucket from the garage to capture the critter. I was called outside to view their prey. This mole had been feasting because it was a fat fellow. Unfortunately for him, he chose the wrong yard to burrow in and his life was at its end.

It’s been a few days, no new mole mounds have surfaced, so I hope the mole drama is over and word spreads in the tunnels of the danger lurking above.