Zucchini, baseball, and the death of normal
Only a few days left in July, and so far it's been in the nineties every day. Stupid hot. About a week into the month, we started leaving all the shades down and as many lights off as possible. Our poor air conditioner can't keep up. Oh how I dread the electric bill.
Rain has been in short supply as well, so we've made several creek trips to water the garden. The garden has been a story in itself. Everything but the corn and tomatoes had to be replanted at least once, and even in the replanting, probably half the seeds did not come up.
What ended up growing has done well, and we've eaten heartily off of it. Bumper crops of zucchini and tomatoes, a few squash and cukes each week, about thirty ears of corn frozen, and black-eyed peas almost ready.
Not only have we eaten heartily, but the rabbits and squirrels also. Green bean rows decimated. Cornstalks dragged from the garden to a shade tree, ears stripped and cobs left to taunt us. Brandon is seething and has vowed to leave few critters standing by next summer.
With the influx of zucchini, I've been testing recipes and baking up a storm. We've found lots of new favorites, not the least of which is spiralizing some zucchini noodles, sauteeing til soft, and tossing them with marinara sauce. I call it zucchetti. We also love these:
Zucchini Bread
Lemon Zucchini Bread
Lemon-Garlic Shrimp Orzo Skillet
Summer Cavatelli with Corn, Tomatoes and Zucchini
Amid the heat, baseball has resumed. Aden joined a travel team, along with several of his travel basketball buddies. It's been quite the learning curve, as this level is so very, very different from the rec leagues we've always known. Super-fast pitching, every spot on the field active and important, and Lord have mercy, the base-stealing. It's just an ongoing anxiety attack.
Aden isn't the quickest cat on the field, but he has had some luck with stealing. He is playing left field mostly, and is improving in all areas, including attitude and motivation. Quarantine has made all of us a little lazy, so we are overjoyed that Aden has the drive to work hard at this, and have a little rare in-person fun.
The fact that he's enjoying himself has made it a little easier for us to sit for five hours at a time in the scorching heat and suffocating humidity, watching his games. Some color to the skin, water weight eliminated, banter among parents, water rationing, and good old American summertime fun.
There are moments, precious and few, when it feels like the old normal. Four months into this pandemic, getting back the old normal is nowhere in sight. And if you ask me, I really don't think it's ever coming back.
Maybe that's an overreaction. But so many of the core things that make up our lives have changed drastically.
I'm working entirely from home, which is an immense blessing and also quite the challenge, with all the noise in the house. We won't be having students on campus this fall, which means yet again my regular responsibilities and opportunities for creativity are sidelined in favor of supporting online instruction.
Church is half drive-up, half in-person, and maybe less than half of our former congregation is attending either one. I'm so thankful to be in that sanctuary and hear voices lifted in praise, but fellowship is incomplete, as smiles are concealed behind sweaty masks and so many faces are missing.
We've cancelled Awana. It's the only thing we can do, really. So many unknowns, so much potential liability if something goes wrong. No way to know if any kids would show up at all, but even more than that, it would probably be nearly impossible to find adult volunteers. We've had tons of success with that in the past, praise the Lord, but I'm afraid that not having to put effort into church might create some bad habits for people, and for those who are neither scared nor motivated, the pandemic will be an easy excuse for turning down opportunities to serve.
Yes, I'm a cynic. And an overreactor. Oh well.
School is yet another story, and is affecting everyone in the family differently. In effort to create space in the elementary schools, the grade levels are being redistributed. Trey will go to high school a year early, and will only attend two days a week. The other days he will have online school, whatever that means. We have no details.
Aden will go to middle school a year early, and will attend every day. He will miss out on every fifth grade celebration - the parties, ceremonies, privileges, graduation, final walk. From what we understand, he will be in the same room all day long, even for lunch. Have heard nothing about who his teacher is, what supplies he needs, or if he will get an introduction to the building before day one. We have no details.
Poor Brandon is no longer a teacher, but a "learning coach". He'll have a handful of students each day, all day, but not necessarily history students. He will put lessons online for whatever students are assigned to his online course. No idea what any of this will look like in practice. We have no details.
And here I sit, my type-A planning tendencies pushing against a brick wall. Wondering how much homeschooling I'll have to do to make up for the boys' strange new arrangements. Wondering if sending Trey is the right thing, with his asthma looming over our heads. Wondering whether I should or should not buy some highlighters while they're fifty cents a pack. All the while hiding my anxieties from the boys, who don't need any more reason to be unsure about their near future.
Brandon says that this will change education. To more individualized and self-directed learning, to less teacher specialization. Maybe even, Lord forbid, lower expectations to advance. As if America needs to get any dumber.
The year that won't end is a little more than halfway through, and I'm trying very hard not to expect it to be the second half of the tribulation. But who knows. Never in my wildest imagination could I have predicted the things that have happened this year. The shutdown of society? The betrayal of police officers? No sports? Destruction of cities? Rage against history? Almost six months without school? Murder hornets? Coin shortage? It's like someone is spinning one of those carnival prize wheels over and over, only the prizes are all completely random catastrophes.
Indeed, 2020 requires recentering and blessing-counting pretty much every day. I'd love to remember none of the bad from this year, but all of the good and perspective-giving and surprising things that might not have happened without all this time together. So much has gone wrong, but all of it seems to be pointing like a neon sign to the fact that this is so not my home, and my work here is simply to love God and love people.
We stand firm. We press on. Breathe in and out. Eyes fixed on Jesus.
Rain has been in short supply as well, so we've made several creek trips to water the garden. The garden has been a story in itself. Everything but the corn and tomatoes had to be replanted at least once, and even in the replanting, probably half the seeds did not come up.
What ended up growing has done well, and we've eaten heartily off of it. Bumper crops of zucchini and tomatoes, a few squash and cukes each week, about thirty ears of corn frozen, and black-eyed peas almost ready.
Not only have we eaten heartily, but the rabbits and squirrels also. Green bean rows decimated. Cornstalks dragged from the garden to a shade tree, ears stripped and cobs left to taunt us. Brandon is seething and has vowed to leave few critters standing by next summer.
With the influx of zucchini, I've been testing recipes and baking up a storm. We've found lots of new favorites, not the least of which is spiralizing some zucchini noodles, sauteeing til soft, and tossing them with marinara sauce. I call it zucchetti. We also love these:
Zucchini Bread
Lemon Zucchini Bread
Lemon-Garlic Shrimp Orzo Skillet
Summer Cavatelli with Corn, Tomatoes and Zucchini
Amid the heat, baseball has resumed. Aden joined a travel team, along with several of his travel basketball buddies. It's been quite the learning curve, as this level is so very, very different from the rec leagues we've always known. Super-fast pitching, every spot on the field active and important, and Lord have mercy, the base-stealing. It's just an ongoing anxiety attack.
Aden isn't the quickest cat on the field, but he has had some luck with stealing. He is playing left field mostly, and is improving in all areas, including attitude and motivation. Quarantine has made all of us a little lazy, so we are overjoyed that Aden has the drive to work hard at this, and have a little rare in-person fun.
The fact that he's enjoying himself has made it a little easier for us to sit for five hours at a time in the scorching heat and suffocating humidity, watching his games. Some color to the skin, water weight eliminated, banter among parents, water rationing, and good old American summertime fun.
There are moments, precious and few, when it feels like the old normal. Four months into this pandemic, getting back the old normal is nowhere in sight. And if you ask me, I really don't think it's ever coming back.
Maybe that's an overreaction. But so many of the core things that make up our lives have changed drastically.
I'm working entirely from home, which is an immense blessing and also quite the challenge, with all the noise in the house. We won't be having students on campus this fall, which means yet again my regular responsibilities and opportunities for creativity are sidelined in favor of supporting online instruction.
Church is half drive-up, half in-person, and maybe less than half of our former congregation is attending either one. I'm so thankful to be in that sanctuary and hear voices lifted in praise, but fellowship is incomplete, as smiles are concealed behind sweaty masks and so many faces are missing.
We've cancelled Awana. It's the only thing we can do, really. So many unknowns, so much potential liability if something goes wrong. No way to know if any kids would show up at all, but even more than that, it would probably be nearly impossible to find adult volunteers. We've had tons of success with that in the past, praise the Lord, but I'm afraid that not having to put effort into church might create some bad habits for people, and for those who are neither scared nor motivated, the pandemic will be an easy excuse for turning down opportunities to serve.
Yes, I'm a cynic. And an overreactor. Oh well.
School is yet another story, and is affecting everyone in the family differently. In effort to create space in the elementary schools, the grade levels are being redistributed. Trey will go to high school a year early, and will only attend two days a week. The other days he will have online school, whatever that means. We have no details.
Aden will go to middle school a year early, and will attend every day. He will miss out on every fifth grade celebration - the parties, ceremonies, privileges, graduation, final walk. From what we understand, he will be in the same room all day long, even for lunch. Have heard nothing about who his teacher is, what supplies he needs, or if he will get an introduction to the building before day one. We have no details.
Poor Brandon is no longer a teacher, but a "learning coach". He'll have a handful of students each day, all day, but not necessarily history students. He will put lessons online for whatever students are assigned to his online course. No idea what any of this will look like in practice. We have no details.
And here I sit, my type-A planning tendencies pushing against a brick wall. Wondering how much homeschooling I'll have to do to make up for the boys' strange new arrangements. Wondering if sending Trey is the right thing, with his asthma looming over our heads. Wondering whether I should or should not buy some highlighters while they're fifty cents a pack. All the while hiding my anxieties from the boys, who don't need any more reason to be unsure about their near future.
Brandon says that this will change education. To more individualized and self-directed learning, to less teacher specialization. Maybe even, Lord forbid, lower expectations to advance. As if America needs to get any dumber.
The year that won't end is a little more than halfway through, and I'm trying very hard not to expect it to be the second half of the tribulation. But who knows. Never in my wildest imagination could I have predicted the things that have happened this year. The shutdown of society? The betrayal of police officers? No sports? Destruction of cities? Rage against history? Almost six months without school? Murder hornets? Coin shortage? It's like someone is spinning one of those carnival prize wheels over and over, only the prizes are all completely random catastrophes.
Indeed, 2020 requires recentering and blessing-counting pretty much every day. I'd love to remember none of the bad from this year, but all of the good and perspective-giving and surprising things that might not have happened without all this time together. So much has gone wrong, but all of it seems to be pointing like a neon sign to the fact that this is so not my home, and my work here is simply to love God and love people.
We stand firm. We press on. Breathe in and out. Eyes fixed on Jesus.
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