Pretending I'm Retired

I made the pie yesterday. It’s a caramel, chocolate pecan pie—a family favorite. I know, pumpkin is the traditional Thanksgiving pie. But here’s the thing about traditions—it’s good to stop and look at them occasionally. To think, why are we doing this? Does this still make sense?  For years, I’ve been in charge of the pies. And for years, I’ve brought the traditional pumpkin pie along with the family favorite. I think it’s the perfectionist in me. If we have the picture-perfect Thanksgiving menu, then we will have the picture-perfect Thanksgiving…right? And every year, the caramel, chocolate pecan pie is gobbled up immediately while the pumpkin pie sits forlornly on the kitchen counter for a week next to the coffee pot. Feeling sorry for it, I cut off tiny slivers to nibble on in the mornings while I wait for the coffee to finish brewing. This year, new tradition—no pumpkin pie. You may be wondering why I’m making a Thanksgiving pie in mid-October. Traditionally, Thanksgiving fall...

The first thing I’ll say: I’m an early riser. Even when I don’t set my alarm, my body clock wakes me up in the pitch black of morning. Or maybe it’s my bladder. Whatever, I’m up. I like the quiet of mornings. Mostly, I follow the same routine: start the coffee (black) that my husband has prepped the night before. All I do is plug it in and press “brew.” Attached to the coffee pot, there’s usually a sticky note where Paul (my husband) has written a few words…some affectionate thoughts or a silly poem. Go ahead, roll your eyes. But I know you’re jealous that I found a soulmate who still loves me and thinks I’m beautiful after almost 27 years of marriage. While the coffee is brewing, I let Lucky out of her crate. She stumbles out, groggy, and stretches her white-tipped paws along the kitchen floor with her back arching high. I don’t know what kind of dog she is. People say Lab mix but her mom was a Jack Russell Terrier. So, she’s got a Lab face but she’s small—30 something pounds—and ha...

Katherine is in the kitchen. She’s been busy packing. She’s warming up some lunch in the microwave and I come out to the kitchen to sit on the bench seat under the window. “Do you have a minute?” I ask. She looks over at me as she grabs her plate and shuts the microwave door. “Like, a real minute?” she says. I look at the clock. I know she’s busy and in a hurry. But maybe, just maybe, it will help if I say this aloud. “I’m sad,” I tell her. “What are you sad about?” she asks. She squirts ketchup on the side of her plate, grabs her fork, and sits down to eat. I consider her question. “I think it’s a combination of things,” I answer. “You’re leaving for grad school and I’m starting a new job. I’m excited for our new opportunities, but also a little anxious. I feel like summer is ending and I’m not ready for it to end. Like right now, I should be doing some professional development trainings, but I feel like taking a nap.” “I’m sorry, Mom.” Katherine finishes the last of her...

October 28, 2017 wasn’t a notable day in many respects. On this sunny Saturday morning in the Year of the Rooster, gas was averaging $2.41 cents a gallon, the Houston Astros were celebrating a win over the LA Dodgers in Game Three of the World Series, and White House Press Secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders was quoted, about the sexual harassment claims against President Trump, as saying, “All of these women are lying.” I wasn’t focused on the news that morning. I was focused on the yardwork. Taking advantage of the warm fall day, Paul and I went out to the backyard to do a little weeding. Our dog, Tatum, loved to sit on the wooden stoop and watch. His black hair rippled slightly in the wind, creating a stark contrast to our bright red door. Paul nodded in his direction. “That is one good looking dog,” he said with a laugh. I pulled my phone out of my jeans pocket and snapped a picture. On October 28, 2017, we were still getting used to our quieter Saturdays. Jack was gone—off to college...

 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...