Sending Out 2020

I won’t be the only person who is glad to say goodbye to this year.  I almost wrote dumpster fire of a year because, of course, it has been that.  At that same time, so many people lost their lives in this year of years and it seems callow to dismiss the passage of this time when so many people and families have lost someone for whom time truly has passed forever.  I am profoundly grateful for my blessings in this year and I hope that I will always be able to see that light in the darkness that is 2020.

As 2020 fades into 2021, I am glad of so very much: My family and friends and our ability to laugh together; the blessings of jobs that put food on our table and give us a chance to make the world better than we found it; the harbor of walks in the woods and stacks of good books to be read.  I am incredibly grateful to be here as 2020 fades into 2021.  With that gratitude is a brightly burning hope that 2021 brings us more of the things that make life good: steady, kind, and measured leadership; the promise of science and a vaccine; and enough laughter and good will to see us through the hard times.  For all the storm that 2020 has been, I have hope that this nation and this world will safely steer into a safer harbor for 2021.  And so, as I have done so many times, I live in hope for us all as we say hello to a new year.

December Book Report: Christmas Stories

When I was truly able to settle into Winter Break, I pulled out three holiday books to read.  Two of them, the books by Miss Read and Alice Taylor, are long-standing holiday favorites.  Reading them is a tradition that I look forward to and always enjoy.  The third, a mystery by Georgette Heyer, was new to me.  I read them all at once for the days before Christmas and they were a happy pause from the real world. 

Books are my comfort and joy in all times and that has especially been the case in this difficult year when there was extra time to read even as I had a greater need than usual to be comforted by good stories.   I am always grateful for the power of the written word and this year that was especially true.

December’s Light

For most of 2020, I have appreciated the beauty of the sky as the day transitions.  In both the early morning and the twilight, there have been days and days with stunning light to behold.  I’ve taken the time to soak it on whenever I see it.

I don’t know if this year’s skies have actually been extra lovely or the fact that I’ve been home much more often to see it, but the light in the sky has often been a balm in this hard year.  

For me, light like this has a way of putting even the biggest of anxieties into perspective.  I hope that when life returns to whatever form the new normal will take, I remember to pause and appreciate this beauty when it shows itself.

That’s happy!

Your Weekly Amaryllis: Just Planted

For Christmas, T gave me an amaryllis bulb from Burpee Seed Company.  It is one of my most favorite traditions to plant this flower in the cold and dark Winter season.  I planted this year’s bulb yesterday.  It sits among the happy plants in the Southeast window, where it will soak up all the morning sunlight that comes along.  

And now we wait.

I watch the bulb daily, always mindful that this stark season is the only way forward to flowers, green grass, and the Summer Solstice light that will be all the more welcome for its comparative shortage during the Winter season.  

The amaryllis bulb isn’t just for marking time while I daydream about the arrival of Spring.  It reminds me to pause and appreciate this cozy season.  And in this time when so much of what seems normal is on pause, I am grateful and glad to have this usual tradition at hand.  

Just Start Somewhere

This blog has fallen behind in the last few months and as 2021 is squarely in my sights, it’s time for me to get a plan about whether this project goes on a more official hiatus.  I love writing here and over the years, it’s been a place to store pictures; memories, both happy and sad; observations and thoughts; and the details of my world.  It’s a reflection of my story and organizing and planning posts has always provided me with happiness.

Falling behind in 2020 is practically the perfect reflection of this unthinkable year.  While I’ve made the call not to be angry with myself for falling behind, I’ve also realized that I need to make a decision for moving forward.  At first, my thought was that I would move forward while also filling in from behind.  I tried this approach in October and November and that turned out to be an undertaking that teaching during a pandemic could not sustain.

And so I am at a crossroads: will I pause this project or seek to resume it, with my posting flaws on full display?  Helping disorganized middle schoolers to take command of their work is a big part of my job these days and when a child finds herself buried under pile of half-finished assignments I always advise them to just start somewhere and then keep moving.  Doing nothing, I point out, is not working.  Making a start is at least something.

It’s good advice and so today I am taking my own advice to just find a start.  I may complete and fill in postings from earlier in the year; I may not.  I will try to write on a regular basis in the coming year.  I start anew as this unthinkable year comes to a close, aware that there is likely a metaphor in that alone.  I start with the the hope that on a daily basis I can find the time to turn the thoughts I have into posts that are a meaningful snapshot of my life.  

It’s a start.

Making Merry

We had a quiet but happy Christmas.  The tree was lovely, as Christmas trees always seem to be.  Santa paid us a visit and filled our stockings.

There was a Christmas feast.

We talked with family, laughed together, and counted our many blessings in this most difficult of years.  Merry Christmas, y’all!

The Faint Light Ahead

The Pfizer vaccine has received emergency FDA approval and distribution in the United States will begin this weekend.  The Moderna vaccine is expected to follow within two weeks.  

The amount of hope that this news brings is hard for me to quantify.  Thanks to a complete absence of national leadership, the pandemic is worse than ever in the U.S. at this moment.  We are averaging one million new cases a day; deaths are approaching 1,000 a day.  In New Jersey, with a population just below 9 million, things are better but we are struggling as well, with somewhere between four and six thousand new cases each day.

There is still a long and dark Winter before us but this vaccine news feels like a faint but steady light at the end of a very long tunnel. 

Frontyard Flowerbed in December

Winter has taken hold around here, as it was bound to do,  and the flowerbed has been cleaned out for the season.  While I did that, I planted a couple dozen bulbs.

I’ve a lot riding on the Spring of 2021: actual leadership in this nation, prospects of a vaccine to fight this horrible pandemic, the usual joys of longer days and warmth.  And now we’ll have some extra crocus, daffodil, and tulip flowers to admire.  That's happy!

November 6

Today is my birthday and, like an extra treat, I had the day off from school.  It’s been such a tentative week, filled with hope at one moment and dread in the next so I slept in a bit.  Then, while I stood in the morning sun of the kitchen to pour my first cup of coffee, T came downstairs to let me know that Biden and Harris had taken a slim lead in the Georgia vote count.

In that moment, it felt like the morning sun shone a bit brighter.  The glow of that hopeful light has stayed with me all day.  The warmth of the day, the growing certainty in the outcome of this election, my confidence that help for our nation is truly on its way, has made for a very nice day.  After a nervous week, I can't stop smiling.  In this year of years, that alone is worth celebrating

Though I repeatedly told my students we would not know the outcome of this election on Tuesday, I hadn’t quite realized what that uncertainty would feel like.  I have spent the better part of the last four years convinced that November 3, 2020, would be the day we began the process to bail ourselves out of the disaster that is Donald Trump.  I never wavered in my confidence that he would lose re-election.  But as election day came to a close, though I knew we’d have to wait a few more days to know the outcome, for the first time since he took office I considered the prospect that Trump might win re-election.  

It made for a hard week.  Today, as the clouds cleared to reveal the blue skies of a Biden/Harris victory, I feel hope - real, true, and powerful hope - and I am so profoundly glad of it.  I sat in the backyard all afternoon and gloried in the feeing.  That's happy!

Election Day

On election day 2016, I came home and started to put together the snacks that would form our celebratory Election Night supper.  As I listened to the news on NPR, I sliced cheeses and set out crackers for our customary cheese tray.  I was excited and confident that the end of the night would see a Hillary Clinton victory.  I’d been waiting since I was 16 and at the age of 48 I would finally see a woman elected president.  

We all know how that turned out.

Since that day, we’ve had ample cause and time to regret the outcome of the 2016 election.  No more so than this year, when the steep cost of presidential incompetence shows itself in a daily death count that makes me heartsick.  For every cheese tray I’ve made since 2016 (and we love a cheese tray, so there have been plenty) there is a moment when I reflect on that horrible day in 2016.  I remember the day's excitement as it curdled to dismay and then fear.  I remember the dull anxiety that took hold as we waited out the last days of 2016 and the cold January day in 2017 when I listened too Donald Trump take the oath of office.  

Today is the start of taking back our government.  The list of problems that President Biden and the Democratic Congress will inherit is long and frightening.  But we are a nation filled with smart people who are willing to do the heavy lifting necessary to solve these problems.  And with a president and a Congress willing to lead,  a people willing toe compassionate and kind, it can be done.  It must be done.  This election is a referendum on whether or not we really believe that all of us are created equal and deserve liberty and justice for all.  With all of my heart, I know that the answer is yes.

Let’s. Go.

Election Day Eve

I have an app on my phone that I use to countdown to the anticipated events of life.  Most of the time, the events are the small treats that make up my happy world: a countdown to my birthday, or to a concert to which T and I have tickets, sometimes a countdown until JT comes home, or until the first day of Spring.  Nearly everything to which I look forward is lovely but not necessarily of major consequence.

And then there is the countdown I’ve been watching since the day Donald Trump took office in 2017 and I begin to hope and work toward a new president being elected in 2020.  It’s been a long, long time coming, this day.  I remember November 2019 when we reached 365 days until the 2020 election and I dared to think we might dodge a bullet.  

2020 said ha! to that and then some and as these long days of pandemic anxiety have ticked past I’ve measured time against the coming reckoning.  

Today, with election day just 24 hours away, I feel the first glimmers of lasting hope that I have felt since 2018, when Democrats did so well in Congressional elections.  I had hope in 2016 as well and nothing in the last four years has let me forget how hard that Electoral College loss proved to be.  This time around, fear and  uncertainty still loom; given what happened in 2016, I’m understandably nervous  But there has been so much activism and energy since then.  With each passing hour, I remind myself that lightening won’t strike twice.  Today, I feel excitement and hope that our nation may yet turn the corner from the self-induced wound that is Donald Trump.  And as the countdown ticks through its last hours, my hope grows and grows.

Frontyard Flowerbed in November

As if to prove that I can’t just wear flip flops forever, Mother Nature has delivered a cold rain for most of the past week.  Today is no exception.  

The last few nights have been cold and the front yard flowerbed has been worn down by it all.  

We’ve had one night of frost; more is surely on the way to join the shorter daylight that last night's time change brought us  As we slip into Winter’s cold and quiet, I have plans to clean out this flowerbed and plant some bulbs for next Spring.  The chore will likely wait until the week of Thanksgiving, when I look forward to my first week off from work since last Christmas.  Though it’s hard to say goodbye to warm days, I feel hope that this nation will turn a corner after Tuesday's election and that hope will keep me warm in the coming days.

Frontyard Flowerbed in October

The front yard garden is a tad overgrown and a bit ragged, as much from the last of the Summer heat as from cold overnight weather.

The hostas have been munched on by deers and rabbits.  Even so, the elephant ear hostas are still pretty and I admire them each day when I leave for work.  

In the coming week, Fall will truly take hold and leaves will begin to fall and collect all over the yard.  It's been a lovely growing season and I am sorry to see it go.  

The Degradation of Democracy

 For as long as I have taught classes on government and politics, I have taught my students that in a democracy citizens get the government that they deserve.  What I mean by that is that democracy requires cultivation.  There must be active participation of the citizens.  To function well, those citizens must do their part - they must try to be informed; they have to ask hard questions and search for real answers.  They must be prepared to reject the lies and deceptions of charlatans.  It’s not easy and it’s made frustrating by politics, the grab for power that all participants in the process sometimes engage in.  But the work to cultivate democracy must happen.  Failure of the citizens to do that work results in the degradation of democracy.  When that happens, the work to restore democracy becomes harder still because the citizens have lost the habits of good citizenship.

I thought of this as I watched the disaster that was Tuesday night’s presidential debate.  It was a real-time display of the shame our republic has become.  To be sure, at the heart of our current crisis is Donald Trump.  He cares only for himself, a fact made apparent over and over since he began his bid for the presidency.  That he has been enabled by a political party so eager to grab power that they are willfully blind to the damage they’ve done to the republic makes the situation much worse.    

On Tuesday night, Joe Biden lost his way more than I would have liked.  The yelling and shouting over one another in a time supposedly devoted to a serious conversation about our national path forward was disgraceful and further proof of the crisis we are in.  A candidate would have to be superhuman not to take the bait from Trump.  But even in the midst of it, Biden persistently regrouped, and sometimes acted like a responsible leader, redirecting the conversation to the needs of his fellow Americans.  It couldn’t have been easy to do; it certainly wasn’t easy to watch.

At the close of the night, as the president of all Americans refused to condemn white supremacy, it felt as if we had achieved a new national low.  In the midst of a series of national crises, including a pandemic he has deliberately and cruelly mismanaged, Donald Trump did what is no longer the unthinkable: he blew the racist dog whistle that he used when he first launched his malevolent ambitions.  This time it was less a whistle than it was a siren.

And so here we are, at a national low point willfully brought on by a man who lied when he swore to uphold our Constitution and the imperfect democratic republic that it created.  Trump is in it for himself and that could ruin us all.  We are in a crisis: a crisis of democracy, a crisis of conscience, and if the president succeeds in persuading his supporters that voting is flawed despite ample evidence that it is not, our low-grade Constitutional crisis will blow up with a fevered roar.  

There is a remedy and it can be found in the citizens.  We must actively participate; we must cast our ballots and we must follow that vote by putting in the hard work to cultivate our democracy.  We must recognize and believe that the whole of this nation is greater than its parts.  I have always believed that we have this power within us. I know the obstacles ahead but still I live in hope.

September Book Report: No Ordinary Time

All summer long, in preparation to once again teach 20th century history, I read (and re-read) books about the last century  One of the very best re-reads was Doris Kearns Goodwin’s 1994 Pulitizer Prize winning history, No Ordinary Time, about Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt and the Home Front in WWII.  

The book is carefully researched and thorough; the context of the Roosevelt story is present as the narrative flows well and the reader is never in doubt as to the challenges of the period.  Neither is there doubt about the power of good, capable, strong, measured, and steadfast leadership.  Though the 1940s did not receive (or demand) the transparency that Americans now need in their leaders, neither was the secrecy of the era about deception or a cover for the ignorant and selfish cowardice that I see and hear so often from our current president and his political allies.  

If anything, Franklin Roosevelt took care to provide Americans with the truth always accompanied with a sense that together we could accomplish great things, not just for one another but also for the world.  I miss that sense that our national purpose must be greater than ourselves.  

In the very last speech that he wrote, in April of 1945, as the war in Europe was coming to a close, Roosevelt wrote words reminiscent of his oft-quoted, 1933 reminder that “we have nothing to fear but fear itself.”  This time writing, “The only limit to our realization of tomorrow will be our doubts of today. Let us move forward with strong and active faith,”  the president set the stage for the post-war challenges he knew his nation would face.  Roosevelt would never deliver the words in the form of speech because he died later in the day that he wrote them.  But the words are a solace and comfort today.  

I’ve read these words before but in early September, as I was ginning up for the start of a hybrid teaching school year and watching the events of our coming November election with anxiety-tinged hope, I thought again about our need to face fear and doubts with active faith.  The words have provided comfort throughout this month and, I suspect, they will give me hope for the rest of this crazy year. 

The Path Ahead

Lately, my favorite pictures to make with my phone are ones with a path at the center.  

It’s like my subconscious is cheering us on as we venture into the unknown.

I’ve worked very hard to remind myself to live in and appreciate the here and now.  These days. I’m able look toward the future’s uncertainty with a sense that new and manageable challenges await.  That’s a good thing, I believe.

A Good Day

T and I took a day over the weekend to go to one of our favorite places and stop by some farm stands along the way.  We came home in possession of a variety of Fall squashes and a jug of fresh apple cider.  Better than that, we came home relaxed.  We had a picnic at our favorite place up north and found that someone had left a smidge of sidewalk chalk on the table.  We put the chalk to good use.

The blue sky at Jenny Jump Park is nearly always a special shade of lovely.  The day was warm but we've had some cold nights and leaves are just starting to change.  As September merges into October, I am grateful for days like this; a reminder to relax my mind and find space to simply be.

Dogwood Mornings

Every morning I stand in the back windows of my house and admire the dogwood tree.  These days, it’s looking decidedly like Fall truly is on the horizon.

When October arrives next week, I’ll choose a day for a weekly dogwood picture.  Fall is lovely in the backyard and these days, I embrace all the beauty that I can find.

The Porch Season

Weekday mornings on the porch have come to a rather abrupt halt this week.  It’s not the cool weather that ended the habit, instead it’s the darkness of the mornings.  We’ve reached the point in the season when the sun rises past 6:45 and even with the porch lights switched on, it’s just too dark for my 52 year old eyes to read comfortably.

I can sit out in the afternoons and on weekend mornings but the writing is clear —— the porch season is coming to a close.  Most years, I accept trading my time on the front porch at the close of the season as part of the happy transition to Fall and then Winter - the cozy seasons, if you will - but this year it’s hard to say goodbye.

I think that’s a side effect of life in a pandemic.  I am worried about what happens with Covid-19 when we are all cooped up indoors. I feel safe at home and even at school we all fully intend to keep the windows open.  But the uncertainty about Winter and this dreadful disease is certainly ever-present.

If I let it, the worry and uncertainty can consume me.  So I make a concerted effort to instead welcome each day and set my worry aside.  Time I spent on the front porch, grateful for the blessings of the green plants and fresh air, certainly helps to ease the worry.  That’s happy!

Doing Hard Things

My second week of hybrid learning school starts today.  When we decided to invite half of the students on campus for each week (the other half learn remotely), I knew that we had selected the hardest of all teaching options.  Last week, as classes got underway, the difficulty of the choice was confirmed.

This week, the students in class last week will be remote and the second crop of students will be present in class.  Some families have opted to be all remote and with those kids mixed in, more than half of each class I teach is off campus each day.  Teaching school with masks and social distancing, with more than half of each class learning remote, is more than exhausting.  It’s also really, really hard.  

Though my classroom is familiar (albeit with plexiglass and desks spaced 6 feet apart), so much of class is different, starting with the tiresome but necessary mask worn while teaching to masked face students in person while the rest of the class chimes in via Zoom.  For years, I’ve taught lessons using an iPad to broadcast notes on the screen.  In hybrid learning, I must choose being seeing the faces of my remote students or broadcasting my notes.  I’ve chosen student faces but that makes the task of teaching students how to take notes much harder.  Lessons take longer and while I don’t feel the pressure to cover material at the same pace as the pre-pandemic world, I’m increasingly aware of what we lose in this method of schooling.

For now, I persevere, aware that there is no other option available.  I relish the laughter and chatter of students doing what middle schoolers do.  I’m also aware of the relative privilege of my students, all of whom have Internet access and a brand-new iPad; most have two devices while they learn remotely.  If it’s hard for us, I can only imagine how much harder it is for teachers whose students have so much less to work with.

But that doesn’t mean my exhaustion isn’t real.  That doesn’t mean my lift isn’t heavy.  Each day I remind myself and then my students that we can do hard things.  And each day we do the hard thing moves us one day closer to a brighter horizon.  

And with that, a new week of hard things begins.

A Neck Less Burdened

I was in the car Friday evening, half listening to NPR, when the top of the hour headline reported that Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg had passed away.  I immediately pulled over to catch my breath and confirm the news.  With no confirmation at the New York Times website or even at NPR, I drove home trying to convince myself that I had misheard the headline.   The immediate silence of my phone let me briefly believe it.  But as I pulled into town my phone blew up with texts.  The overwhelmingly sad news was confirmed by each of those dings.

My son.

Then my sister.

And my mother.

Three friends.

It was true.

To say that we’ve lost an icon is to underestimate the value of RBG in the world, but especially in the world of women my age.  I am 52 and though I am well-familiar with sexism, I came of age with opportunities that Justice Ginsburg never had and that her work provided for women like me.  Because of her efforts, I came of age with a neck less burdened by the feet of powerful men.  It was the thing she sought when she appeared before the Super Court as a litigant in 1970s, working tirelessly to give women access to the equal protection of the law promised us all by the 14th amendment.  

It was a goal she continued to work toward when she joined the Supreme Court in 1993, only the second female justice on the Court.

I am grateful to Justice Ginsburg for a lifetime of work on behalf of true equality under the law.  It’s clear that she hoped to serve long enough to be replaced by a Democratic president.  She’s gone and we cannot give her that wish.  But we can honor her lifetime of service and her final wish by fighting harder than ever for a nation of justice for all.  She gave us our chance and the least we can do is work harder than ever to secure it for the next generation.  

Thank you, Justice Ginsburg.  Rest in power.

Bulletin Board Season Opener

My annual bulletin board (which is really more of an inspiration board) is one of my favorite back-to-school traditions.  In all the insanity of planning for our hybrid teaching school year, I considered letting last year’s board hang around.  But I love this tradition and spend all year collecting things for my bulletin board and so last week I set to work on the 2020-2021 bulletin board.

I am glad that I found the time because it makes me happy every day.

Dogwood Days

Though I am still wearing flip flops and sitting outside for all my spare moments, Fall is most clearly in the air.  The dogwood leaves are leading the way and they are lovely.

Jenny Jump

Before I returned to meetings at school on August 31,  T and I stole a few hours on that last weekend to visit Jenny Jump State Park, one of our favorite places in New Jersey.

The sky was clear blue and lovely.

The park was its usual quiet, which is always nice to experience when you live in a densely populated state like New Jersey.  It was verdant green, even as the Summer prepares to end.

Just a few hours of rest but it was lovely, a down payment of still and quiet in what is sure to be a busy Fall.

The Little School That Could

School starts today.  To say that I am nervous, excited, worried, hopeful…….all of that is an epic understatement.  But children belong in school, a place separate from home in the company of their friends and led by adults who care deeply.  My school is this place and today, nearly 6 months after we shut the doors and went to remote learning, we are able to have students in school again.

We have masks and open windows, social distancing, and carefully marked hallways.  Daily we are at half capacity with 50% of our students learning remote and the other half on campus for alternating weeks.  The amount of preparation put into this day is staggering.  

But with all of my heart and soul, I am ready for this.

Flowers

My 2020 backyard garden was started with the best of intentions and grew quite nicely until the backyard mulberry tree leafed out and began to shade the garden patch.  The mulberry needs to be trimmed - cut down, probably - but that messy chore fell victim to the pandemic.  If T and I don’t cut it back this Winter, I will hire a tree service to come out and do it come next Spring.  Its presence meant that the zinnias took longer than I like to wait for flowers to bloom.  But there are enough now to start off a bouquet and that is a most welcome treat as school is underway.

Good Morning Indeed

We had meetings all of last week and this week will feature some more meetings and then, on Thursday and Friday, actual school - in person and with students.  At this point, 6 months after I last taught students in person, the very idea of in-person school feels special.

For grades 6-12, my school is using a hybrid model, with half of the students present for in-person in class each week and the other half learning remote.  Each week, we’ll swap out the group on campus.  In class together will look radically different - with masks and socially distant seating. plexiglass shields and rules about hand-washing and hallway walking and a zillion other differences.  It could seem daunting but for the fact that I am so glad that we will be able to teach and learn together in person.  I know that most teachers and students won’t have this benefit and I am grateful that my students will.

I don’t know how long this method of school will last. I’ve never taught hybrid before and I expect it will be exhausting.  I’m still sorting out what assessments look like in this teaching model.  The list of uncertainties goes on and on and on.

But, after months and months of anxious planning, we have arrived at this day.  I am so very glad that we’re here.

Filling in the Gaps

I spent the last weekend of this crazy pandemic Summer filling in the gaps from my blog postings since August 11, the last time I had posted.  That I hadn’t posted since then wasn’t because I hadn’t been writing.  I had been writing in every spare moment I had.  

But, as expected of thoughts thrown down on a page in increasingly rare spare moments, there were trails of incomplete ideas everywhere.  I made those ideas a priority over the long weekend, cleaning them up and adding photos and generally feeling glad for the journal that feeds this blog, a register of the memories and stories of my life, my work, and my blessings.

Biscuit Magician

Though I’ve been making them for more than 30 years, I always love to stir together a batch of homemade biscuits.  My biscuit-making career started with the help of my now kitchen-stained Better Homes and Garden cookbook.  Using that recipe, I taught myself to make biscuits.  Over the years, I’ve read countless recipes and cooking magazine articles about the making of biscuits and then I’ve honed my technique accordingly.  I can make all sort of biscuits: sourdough, cheese, cornmeal, angel……but my favorite is the delicious old-fashioned basic: a buttermilk biscuit.

Buttermilk was not a regular part of my mother’s kitchen, but is was a part of my grandmother’s and it was certainly present in the Southern kitchens where I honed my biscuit-making skills.  I don’t always have fresh buttermilk on hand but when I do buy it at the market, usually to make fried chicken, blue cheese salad dressing, or chocolate cake, I always make sure to stir up some fresh buttermilk biscuits.

I

I measure the ingredients into a big bowl and as I stir together the dough, memories of previous biscuits flow through my mind.  Biscuits cut into a heart shape for an impromptu Valentine’s Day celebration; biscuits served with bacon, cream gravy, and scrambled eggs on a cold Winter morning; biscuits made in a hot Summer kitchen to slather with a batch of freshly-made jam; the batch I made at JT’s request in the fleeting days before we loaded up the car and drove him to college…..my memory fills with an steady parade of warm biscuits.  

I cut them out and line them up on the baking sheet, taking care that they lightly touch one another and then carefully dimpling each one with a slight press of my thumb before I slide the pan into a hot oven.

12 minutes later, there is a basket full of steamy hot biscuits, ready for hungry eaters and stirred together with memories and loves as the unspoken but magical ingredient.