Even though the teen years offer some interesting (mind-numbing) opportunities (challenges), one of my very favorite things that accompanies budding young adulthood is the rich conversation that doesn’t always, but sure can flow. I actually enjoy the fresh opinions and raw points of view that come with teen-talk, even though they sometimes feel more like an assault than a relationship builder. And, I appreciate how teens say what they’re thinking. I’m glad they push the envelope and don’t blindly ascribe to cultural norms (understatement) – at least norms are according to parents. And I’m glad they defend by clarifying (“That’s not what you said. I heard you say _____”) our conversations. Because, what they hear is so often not what I said – or meant to communicate.
I think I’m officially back from my little hiatus. We’re putting the final touches on I’m Happy For You (Sort of … not really), so I’m starting to breathe a bit more freely. I’ve been drowning in words and just couldn’t subject you guys to more. Of course, get a little burr under my saddle – and she’s back (eek!) “Do you remember ever having rubrics in school?” I asked a friend this morning on the phone. “I’m not sure I completely agree with their use … or at least exclusively. What do you think? “What’s a rubric?” she asked. I was surprised she asked. She has kids in college. I know she’s had to bump up against these things. “You know, those guidelines they give the kids to follow when writing a paper or doing a project. It tells them exactly what they have to
I’m sitting amidst my Christmas cards that were so going to be sent Saturday – as in last Saturday. How could a week have passed?! I sat in the same place yesterday. At my dining room table. Looking at envelopes and cards and various address books – since I’ve never compiled a list so things like this could be easy. No I’m working off multiple directories, an old computer address book and addressed-but-never-sent cards from Christmas’ Past. I guess it must be overwhelming since my current scheduled trip to the Post Office keeps getting delayed. Yesterday the cards were back-burnered again. And it was a wonderful delay. Because what can be better than being delayed by a friend. That’s not delay – it’s a delight. Mid-addressing a card, my friend Katie called. “Hey girlee,” I said, thrilled to be
Some days, on special days, I stop by Eatzi’s, a terrific local take-out market, and grab a sandwich and a large ice-tea to go. Eatzi’s always has taste-stations for patrons to test their goods scattered around the store. These chips were available last week. I ate one three. I got my sandwich and circled back by the chip bowl, pretending to be intrigued and “tasted” one five again. Then I bought a bag. Oh my word … they are so delicious. Seriously. Those chips are a party in your mouth. They’re so wonderful and horrible at the same time. They trick you into thinking they’re some regular chip. But about halfway through chewing, the fire starts. It’s so hot. It burns but doesn’t consume. It leaves you mouth smoking for several minutes – a reminder of their presence, or