by jphilo | Apr 23, 2012 | Daily Life
My rhubarb life is spinning out of control this morning. I blame my present chaos on the recent mild winter. This is not the first time the Winter of 2012 has invaded my personal space. Last week, I renamed March and April as Marpril, thanks to the great Early Spring Weather Flip Flop of 2012. Blissfully ignorant of nature’s wiles, I also suggested Maypril as a new name for April and May if the weather hijinks continued, never expecting to put it to use already. But today, the announcement must be made.
Maypril is here!
How do I know? Because it’s time to pick the rhubarb. All last week, before leaving for the Accessibility Summit in the Washington, DC area, I denied the truth. Over and over, I told myself it was still Marpril and nobody in this part of the country picks rhubarb in Marpril. Picking the rhubarb in Marpril would weaken it. Kill it even.
I didn’t want rhubarbacide on my rap sheet.
But when I returned from the Summit (more on that trip tomorrow), the rhubarb – egged on by the Winter of 2012 and the great Early Spring Weather Flip Flop of 2012 – threw it’s version of a tantrum, determined to gain my attention. The rhubarb sent up seed pods. Unheard of in March, April, or Marpril. But common in May. Except May is two weeks away.
Which means it’s Maypril.
So this morning, though my desk is covered with business expense receipts to file and record, though trips to the grocery store and bank are in order, though my inbox is overflowing with emails to answer, though the dirty laundry pile grows as unpacking progresses, though there’s cooking and baking to do…I’m hacking off seedpods and picking rhubarb. Because my mama always sent me out to cut off those seed pods and pick the rhubarb so it would keep producing until the weather turned hot and dry. But the seedpods never sprouted in April. Always in May.
Which means its Maypril. The month when life spins out of control.
Or will feel out of control until my desk is cleared off, the errands are run, the emails are answered, the laundry’s done, the get basic cooking and baking is finished, and there’s time to make a rhubarb-strawberry crisp. Then maybe I’ll like Maypril as much as I liked May evenings when my mom served rhubarb crisp for desserts, when my dad winked and said, “Maybe you better not eat that, Jo-Jo. Maybe you better give it to me so I can see if your piece is as good as mine was,” when my brother and sister and I giggled because it was rhubarb season, and our parents were happy.
Then, I’ll welcome Maypril.
by jphilo | Apr 20, 2012 | Out and About, Uncategorized
Hmmm…maybe flying Southwest Airlines to the Accessibility Summit (to take advantage of their 2 free bags policy to haul books & book table stuff) wasn’t such a good idea. Our plane is sitting on the runway, we’re packed in here like sardines, and the pilot announced a problem with the electrical system. The first attempt to solve the problem was unsuccessful.
A technician is on his way.
Call me crazy, but I’m developing a Southwest Airline/Accessibility Summit phobia. Last year while at the Summit, again arriving there via Southwest, the airline announced one of their planes developed a crack in the fuselage. My return flight was one of the few not grounded, so I returned home without a problem.
Though I was on fuselage crack watch the entire time.
But, back to the present problem. We’ve now been deplaned which means I won’t make my Chicago connection. The customer service representative says there’s a “good likelihood” I’ll get to Dulles tonight.
But when tonight remains a mystery.
All this trouble to take advantage of SW’s 2 free bags policy. Which I probably will need since I won’t be in the Accessibility Exhibit Hall to sell books tonight and may have a bunch to cart home on Sunday. If SW planes fly on Sunday.
I’m not holding my breath.
by jphilo | Apr 4, 2011 | Out and About
Okay, okay, so the title doesn’t pack the alliteration punch of Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. But, Starbucks and cherry blossoms were the two big disappointments of this trip to DC. The weather was too darn cold, wet, and gloomy to ride the hotel shuttle to the Metro station and catch a train to the Tidal Basin. By the time the sun came out and the weather warmed up, I was worn out from the conference, in no mood for a solitary adventure. So my camera never saw daylight, my hopes of wowing you with a picture of cherry blossoms are dashed, and the only picture that came close to the subject is this one of cherry pie.
My search for Starbucks (a big treat for this small town girl) was nearly as futile as the blossom failure. When there was time to get a cup of coffee, no shop could be found. When there was a shop on every corner, I didn’t have time to stop. Time and access finally converged while I waited for my flight at the Dulles Airport. Delicious!
So the Dulles Airport gets a thumbs up for Starbucks, another thumbs up for long open terminal where middle-aged women obsessed with exercising can do laps, but a thumbs down for no free Wi-Fi. Either middle-aged women obsessed with exercising get a smart phone so they can check Twitter and Facebook without paying a small fortune for airport internet access or they confine their travels to Omaha and Phoenix, which offer the service for free.
Of course, this trip wasn’t really about cherry blossoms and Starbucks. Those would have been icing on the Accessibility Summit cake. But the cake was wonderful without them. Temple Grandin’s keynote was fantastic and watching her interact with fans was fascinating. (Fantastic, fans, and fascinating in the same sentence. Take that, John Steinbeck!) John Sheptock’s story and singing were sensational (more alliteration), and I actually walked past him in the hotel and at the Summit a couple times. And in the conference exhibit hall, several people made beelines to my table and made comments like, “This is the book I wanted to get,” or “My friend bought a copy, read a few chapters, and said I needed to get it, too.”
I met so many people passionate about improving the lives of individuals and families dealing with special needs. I gained so much knowledge at workshops about resources for families, churches, and caregivers. I matched names to faces and made new friends.
But the highlight of the trip was the response from parents and pastors at my workshop about grief and guilt in parents of kids with special needs. I didn’t think anyone would attend such a Debbie Downer, but people did. Not only that, they nodded through the whole thing. Pastors thanked me for giving them insight. Parents thanked me for talking about the forbidden subject. “You know how we feel,” they said with tears in their eyes. “You know.”
So forget the cherry blossoms and Starbucks coffee. This weekend was all about pastors learning to minister to wounded families. It was a place for parents to salve their souls with the balm of Gilead. It was a time of hope of healing.
And that, John Steinbeck, packs a powerful punch.
by jphilo | Apr 1, 2011 | Out and About
Just so you know, this post is not an April Fool’s joke. I really am in Tyson’s Corner, Virginia (just outside Washington DC) for the Accessibility Summit at McLean Bible Church. To be accurate, the Summit begins later today, and I’m hanging out in the hotel business area because a new heater and AC unit is being installed in my room. My theory is that the CIA has hidden cameras in all hotel rooms in these parts, so they decoded my mutterings when the noisy heater woke me repeatedly in the night. Who says our government isn’t responsive?
The longer I sit here and people watch, the more glaringly apparent it becomes that I’m not in Kansas (yes, I live in Iowa, but please work with me) any more. Even though I read plenty of David Baldacci thrillers, Lisa Scottoline legal mysteries, Mrs. Pollifax CIA romps, and other fiction set on the East Coast to prepare me for this culture shock, it didn’t work. This midwestern gal is jaw-droppingly agog at the accents (this morning’s mix included British, Australian, Jersey, New York, and perhaps German), not to mention the fashion show that began in the Chicago airport yesterday and shows no sign of ending any time soon.
The most noticeable fashion statement thus far is the knee high, calf-hugging boots with three inch heels. Sported mostly by younger women who don’t yet realize “Bunion Builders” is the CIA code name for these boots, they look – well – really expensive, uncomfortable, and positively anti-midwestern.
The second most noticeable statement has been skin tight leggings, sometimes worn with bunion builders, sometimes under baggy, flowing shirts, and sometimes with short shirts and presumably thong underwear since no one had unsightly pantie lines. Apparently, fat jiggles are not considered unsightly in this neck of the woods. This is also anti-midwestern. In that part of the country, there are more fat jiggles per capita, but their owners tend to keep them well hidden.
I’m coping with the culture shock as well as can be expected. So far, I’ve resisted the infrequent urges to buy a pair of bunion builders, squeeze into leggings, or purchase thong underwear. Quite a feat of self-control for this midwestern, former school teacher who holds the door open for strangers, wears flat shoes and khaki pants, and knows better than to hug a Lutheran.
Just to be on the safe side, I’m making a list of anyone who looks like they work for the CIA, starting with the guys installing the heater in my hotel room. Once I get back home, I’ll mail it to the agency with an instructive note about how to make their spies blend in a little better, possibly by hiring midwestern women with sensible shoes, contained cellulite, sensible underwear, and absolutely no accent.
It worked for Mrs. Pollifax.
It could work for me.
Ya, shure, you betcha!
