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A Neighborly Christmas

My mom must have baked for a month before Christmas every year. She had tubs of cookies in the stand alone freezer, tucked into closets, and usually all over the countertops in the kitchen for most of December. My mouth waters just thinking of them--split seconds, almond toffee, candycane cookies, butterscotch oatmeal cookies, chocolate chip cookies, snickerdoodles, fudge, divinity, some strange concoction involving nuts and long stringy, crunchy things dipped in chocolate. That's just to name a few. The cookies were placed on plates--each plate featuring a wonderful assortment--covered with saran wrap, topped with a stick-on bow, and then delivered throughout the neighborhood. When we were younger, we went as a family and caroled at the homes where we delivered plates. As the cooperative singing children became less cooperative and tight-lipped teens, the caroling ended, but we were still tasked with delivering plates to dozens and dozens of homes. I don't think my mom e...
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Dorm Livin'

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An update on Landon . . . This is the only picture I was able to snap on move-in day for RU freshmen. He is loving college--enjoying new friends and opportunities and full of zeal for his coursework, even though he has a pretty challenging first semester. He joined intramural rugby and volleyball, and he signed up for many, many clubs, including the Catholic Student league, a Jewish Student Society, and some group promoting breast cancer awareness. They were giving away free things for anyone signing up. Apparently he's collected a pile of loot. My fears of his leaving and never looking back have been abated. I think it's possible he even misses us a little! For my birthday, he left a message--his heavy metal version of "happy birthday to you" played on electric guitar. Made my day!
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Material Girl

December 1988. A year after high school graduation, and I had my first real job with a regular paycheck. I was a teacher at Kids Kollege, a daycare/preschool center near my home (the same place my parents bought a few years later). I took care of 12 three year olds. I was convinced that their time with me was foundational. Preschool prepared them for kindergarten, and success in kindergarten would mean success in first grade, and so on, ultimately ensuring lives of exceptional achievement. I was sure of it. The other teachers must have been impressed with my work. What other explanation was there for the fact that they sent me their kids to watch too, while they ordered food and hung out together in the office? I often stayed late after work, Xeroxing pages that would surreptitiously teach the children letters and colors while they thought they were merely coloring. I spent my own money on workbooks and storybooks and music that would expand their horizons. The soundtrack to...
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