Pretending I'm Retired

 Hi Dad, I miss you. If you were here, we’d probably get together for a Father’s Day BBQ and you’d regale us with stories about the properties you rent. I guess this year it falls to me to share the updates. Remember, a few weeks ago when we had that real hot spell? “Johnny” needed a new air conditioner. I guess it’s Murphy’s Law that they always break right before summer.   When I drove to Silver Spring to meet the technician, I noticed Johnny’s lawn was looking overgrown and weedy. “Uh oh,” I thought. “The HOA isn’t going to be happy about this.” I swear, one of the tenants leaves a lid off a trash can one day and the next day I get a letter from the HOA. Sheesh. So, while I was waiting for the technician, I reached down and started pulling up weeds from front yard. No tools, no gloves—just me against the dandelions. By the time the HVAC guy showed up, the garden bed was looking pretty good. When I led him around to the back entrance, I found a pair of scissors sitting ...

Today I baked a cake. Not just any cake, but a peppermint chocolate cake. Back in November, I was tempted by a decadent picture on the magazine at the grocery store checkout. The mouth-watering, rich chocolate slice beckoned to me, “Don’t I look delicious?” Its frosting, coated with festive peppermint sprinkles, looked so indulgent. So calorific. “Yes, you look delicious,” I whispered. I imagined the cake as the Christmas Eve centerpiece, sitting atop a pedestal, perhaps garnished with a sprig of holly. In my mind, family is gathered around the table. The room is lit by candlelight and the flickering flames make the cake look magical. The evening feels magical. In reality, Christmas Eve was an epic “Pinterest Fail.” There was no cake. To be honest, I can’t even remember what we had for dinner. I was exhausted—still recovering from a bad cold—and was probably mustering the energy to wrap the last of the presents. Instead of the sweetness of peppermint and chocolate gracing my plate, my ...

  Dear Katherine, Do you mind if I brag a little? Forgive me, I’m your mom. I know, bragging gets a bad rap. We’re often encouraged to be humble—self-depreciating, even—about our accomplishments. But I can’t help it; you’re amazing. This weekend, I watched you walk across the stage to receive your diploma and I am incredibly proud of your achievement. I mean, those were high-heeled sandals, and you didn’t even trip once! The diploma you hold in your hands lists an impressive accomplishment: you graduated summa cum laude from The College of William & Mary with a double major in Psychology and Kinesiology. Wow! It says more, but it’s written in Latin, and I can’t read it. Here’s what I’m guessing the diploma doesn’t list: four years of experiences that led to this moment. The classes, the studying, and the stress, sure. But also, how you learned to swing dance. The quilt you sewed for your sorority sister. Being the RA with the most creative bulletin boards. Surviving the l...

Preparing “I just finished reading a book about all the ways you can die in the Grand Canyon,” my neighbor tells me as we watch our dogs run around his back yard. I cross my arms and stare at him. “Great,” I say, rolling my eyes. “This is just what I want to hear the night before I leave for the Grand Canyon.” He laughs. “No, you’d like it, really,” he says. “The point is, the majority of these deaths are preventable if you are prepared.” I’m prepared. Chrissy and I have been preparing for over a year, in fact, because that’s how far in advance this adventure has been on the calendar. After entering a lottery, we were notified in March of 2022 that we secured two spots to spend the night in a cabin at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Did you know that the Grand Canyon hosts about 6 million visitors annually? This makes it our second most popular National Park, just behind the Great Smoky Mountains. And of that 6 million, guess how many people take at least one step below the ...

Somehow, I thought death would be more profound. Sad, of course, but also a meaningful and poetic intersection of grief and joy. Memories of a life well spent. A reminder to the living that time is our most precious commodity. What I didn’t expect was the mundane side of death. The phone calls. The emails. The paperwork. The taxes. Death has become my “to do” list. I think back to a year ago when I was feeling the itch for a change. A new dog? A new job? Go back to school? And in true Allison fashion, I did all three. I adopted an adorable puppy, I accepted a job teaching fifth grade at a new school, and I enrolled in a creative writing program. I filled my life right up to the brim. What I didn’t allow for was space for the unexpected. Which is a naïve error in calculations, right? Because when has life ever gone according to my well laid-out plans? When my dad died in July, I thought, “I can handle this.” I’ve learned a lot over the last 8 months as I’ve navigated the tasks associa...

There’s a sticky hand on my ceiling. You know, one of those cartoon-like hands that seems to have 5 fingers and no thumb? Sticky hands come in assorted colors with long stretchy tails—perfect for eleven-year-old boys to swing and fling around the classroom. To be clear, I gave one to each of the girls too, but it is the boys who have eagerly unwrapped them, quickly tossing aside the attached Valentine that reads, “Let’s stick together!” Now the boys are up out of their seats, heart-shaped lollipops in their mouths, swinging their sticky hands around the room, experimenting with the yo-yo quality of the elastic tail and the stickiness of the rubbery digits. Did I mention that I have seventeen boys in my class? It was just a matter of time before one swung a sticky hand up in the air and—Thwack!—it landed on my ceiling. The ceiling in my classroom is made of those classic 2’ x 2’ tiles set in a suspended checkerboard grid. Originally, they were made with asbestos, but now they’re ...

What can you say about the number 52? It’s a multiple of two so it’s an even number. It’s composite, with factors of 1, 2, 4, 13, 26, 52. It has two digits, the sum of which is 7. There’s a 5 in the tens place and a 2 in the ones place. Let’s see, what else? As of today, it’s my age. The year I turned 50, I made a long list of goals related to my age—such as read 50 books, ride my bike 50 miles, visit all 50 states, etc. The older I get, the more ambitious and unrealistic these age-numbered goals become. And also, the older I get, the less important these goals seem. As I reflect on my 51 st year, there’s no number that sticks out among the highlights and the challenges. 50—I finally made it to Alaska, the crown jewel in my quest to visit all 50 states. 5—number of graduate classes to earn my certificate in creative writing at PENN. 1—We welcomed one new puppy to our family in May. 6—number of days spent exploring London over spring break. 40—number of miles Chrissy and ...