First Day of Fall

            It’s almost as if Mother Nature glanced at the kitchen calendar and realized, “Crap!  Fall is supposed to start today!”  So she ordered up a big ol’ wet and stormy blow for the Pacific Northwest to make sure we knew about it.  And now limbs are down, the ground is soggy and the sky is countless shades of gray (WAY more than 50, for sure).

            The unenlightened (code for non-locals) assume that gray and wet is a constant state of being in these parts, but we have a big secret.  Our little corner of the country enjoys brilliant bright summers complete with sparkling blue skies and waters, indescribable sunrises and sunsets, and more green than you can imagine.

            The problem for sun worshippers comes when fall arrives.  Autumn rings in the 9 month long season of gray.  It is a myth that Seattle and the surrounding neighborhood are washed in a constant sheet of rain.  When you look at precipitation charts, we get far less rain than parts of the country that are associated with sun.  Atlanta, GA, Houston TX and even New York City get 10 more inches of rain annually than Seattle.  Our rainfall is almost exactly the same as Dallas Texas, believe it or not.  Why our rainy reputation?  Because here in The PNW the wetness comes in a slow dribble interrupted by periods of dark rainless clouds with the occasional sideways, turbulent spray.

            Before you start feeling sorry for us during our season of moss, you need to understand we like it this way.  Never is there a time period when the weather is too hot, too cold, too dry or too wet for us to enjoy our incredibly beautiful landscape.  Mountains are climbed, waters are paddled, sailed and surfed, and fresh air is consumed in abundance.  Today we enjoyed a drippy post-storm walk in the woods, and were reminded of how the rain still falls in the woods after a storm has passed, as big drops slowly roll off of leaves from trees above and splatter onto your head and face in huge blops.

            Contrary to popular belief we don’t have to bid Mr. Sun adieu for the entire period (equal to the gestation of a human being.)  The sun WILL appear, but much like a brightly wrapped package, it will surprise us, and for a moment we will rejoice and find excuses to spend more time outdoors to bask in its warmth and glory.  We will enjoy the occasional and short-lived gifts of blue sky with warm glow, and even the rare and coveted Snow Day – when roads and schools close and we all congregate in the streets for some old fashioned sledding.

            I’m not going to mourn the loss of summer.  I welcome this season of busy squirrels, fully horned bucks looking for love (leash your dogs – those big horned deer do NOT like their dates interrupted by vigilant mutts…just ask my labrador) and endless shades of green, gray and earthtones. 

I say, Bring it on!

Why Humans Should be Marsupials

(in 500 words, more or less)

            Our babies come out not quite ready for the human world.  Let’s face it, their first tiny cries scream, “Put me back!  Put me back, NOW!”  In fact, I’m pretty sure those little pink wiggly creatures are practically a different species for the first three or four months of their post-womb existence.  And I think I know why.

            We humans are supposed to be marsupials. Yep, those mammals from down-under have it all figured out, and we could learn a lesson or two from them.  The main thing that makes a marsupial a marsupial is that nifty little flesh-pocket that the females have, ingeniously outfitted with natural body heat, the rhythm of Mom’s heartbeat and an endless source of milk.

            For all of us who have had our own children, we know that the tiny infant’s needs are quite simple:  Milk, sleep, human warmth and more milk.  Soothed by the voices of family, the baby gets stronger by the day until after twelve or so weeks, she is ready to interact with the bigger environment, grab at things and try sitting up.  That’s when she’s ready to leave the pouch.

            Every day you see parents imitating kangaroos without even knowing it.  Go to the nearest family hangout (children’s museum, playground) and you’ll see several Mommas with human-made cloth contraptions strapped to their chests with a tiny human inside.  Baby is secure, warm and close to the milk-wagon.

            I have been ranting about this for years, and THEN I came across a super-interesting theory* about human gestation that totally blew my mind!  Get this – they said that way back in the time of dinosaurs - okay, not really, humans weren’t around then – but way back in time before we can even imagine what life was like, our human ancestors likely didn’t give birth until around 12 months of gestation!!  There were two main factors that shortened our pregnancies to 9 months.  First of all, we got up off of all fours and gravity started making it more difficult for our bodies to hold onto that baby for so long.  Also we started getting smarter, and therefore our brains (and skulls) grew bigger.  So if we waited a whole year to have our babies, we would never be able to squeeze their fat little heads through our pelvis!

            If we were marsupials we would have the best of both worlds.  We’d give birth to reasonably sized offspring, and then our babies could grow their brains for a few more weeks in the comfort and safety of their mom’s flesh-pocket.  Now, I’m not trying to instigate a new plastic surgery trend of skin grafts stretched across our abdomens, although that would make bikini season rather interesting.  I guess we’ll just keep doing our best to imitate the marsupials with fabric baby-slings, front-packs and other things strapped to our chests and make the best of our slightly inferior pouchless human bodies.

*This is where I would cite where to find that theory, but since my mind is like a steel trap-door, that information escaped me long ago.  If you know, you're welcome to share.

The First Grader

The low-slung sun is casting long shadows with its buttery rays.  The dew sparkles and reveals a surprising number of spider webs that span every gap in the trees and bushes…and lawn furniture and mailboxes and power lines and walkways. These signs point to one thing:  Time for School.  For many parents this is time to celebrate the fact that their kids are out of their hair for nine whole months.  For me it’s time for a virtual rat’s nest in my hair, for I am a Substitute Teacher.

As I have said before, I love being a substitute teacher (most of the time).  It’s like being a Grandma – I get to come into an organized classroom, play with children for a whole day, and then go home.  No assessments to stress over, no parent phone calls, and I’m free to parent my own kids.  On the best days I win the students over, successfully manage behavior, and hopefully dispense a few nuggets of knowledge along the way.

This year I will kick off my year with a day in First Grade.  This is the first fun age, as I seriously believe that Kindergarteners are of a different species.  The Kinders arrive at school much like feral cats – they all have their own way of doing things and they have no concept of how to be part of a group.  They have always been the one apple in their parents’ eyes and now they’re expected to be hanging out in a big ol' orchard.  You’ve heard the term ‘herding cats’…try herding FERAL cats.  Gives me the shivers.

First graders at least come with the language of school.  ‘Lining up’ is part of their vocabulary, and they are usually 50% successful with raising their hands before blurting out whatever is on their minds, “I have a hole in my sock!” or “My cat threw up this morning!”  First Graders know their way around the building, but usually travel in pairs for comfort and safety.  Most importantly, the time span between the realization that they have to go to the bathroom, and the time when it is too late, increases to at least three minutes.  Although, as soon as I see a First Grader doing the potty dance I give them the “okay” to dash to the appropriate place.  Nobody likes an accident.

The 6-7 year olds are sweet and easily won over with kindness.  When bombarded with praise they will usually puff up their chests and rise to the occasion to prove that, indeed, they are big kids now.  And they are helpful.  Very helpful.

I will probably begin Monday morning with a meeting on the carpet where I will introduce myself.  I will ask, “Do I look like Ms. M?”  And they will giggle and respond in a chorus of “Nawww!”  I will go on to explain that since I am not Ms. M, I cannot possibly do everything exactly like Ms. M does, and that is okay.  This is important because  the little guys really like routine.  If something isn’t just right you get to hear ALL about it.  I assure them that I will do my best and they should, too.  Our goal is to have a great day so that Ms. M will return busting buttons because she is so proud of her great class.

Ms. M recently warned me that she has a large class this year, and they’re still learning routines and rules.  She said I may have to start out on Monday impersonating “Viola Swamp,” the mysterious story-book substitute who is super-strict and doesn’t smile.  I will do my best, but it might be difficult to scowl when I see those pudgy cheeks and wide-open, sparkly eyes.  Wish me luck.

Happy Sounds

            Recently a group of my friends had a big F-bomb dropped on them for celebrating and laughing too loudly after an early morning run.  They felt bad and apologized to the sleepy resident with a pound of coffee and a note.  While I wasn’t present at the “incident”, I was there when the F-bomber approached the Too-loud-laughers on another run and apologized for her foul language.  By the end of the friendly conversation everyone felt better.  After all, we all want a little respect, but we humans make mistakes from time to time.

            This whole thing reminded me of a lesson from my mother:  When something, particularly noise, annoys you, think about where it’s coming from and in most cases you will realize that it is a happy sound.   When I was itty-bitty we lived in a house with a view of the bay, but it was very near a busy street.  Mom told us, “Just think of the swoosh of the passing cars as waves crashing on the shore.”  I stopped hearing the sound of traffic and focused instead on the beautiful view.  During my whole life, and likely his, my father has whistled a tune that would send my eardrums into a violent spasm (maybe a slight overstatement).  When I complained or asked him to PLEASE STOP, Mom reminded me that he whistles when he is happy.  “Think of it as a happy sound,” she would say.  That thought makes the shrill ear-piercing hiss a bit more tolerable and my blood pressure drops.

            We all live in neighborhoods and are exposed to uninvited noise.  We could get angry at the neighbor for not fixing the muffler on his car, or call Animal Control every time the dog on the corner announces the arrival of…everything.  But then we’d have to annoy everyone else when the fire department and ambulance scream down our street to resuscitate us after our multiple heart attacks.  Anger and stress kill.  They eat us up from the inside out.  I choose to listen to my mommy instead.

            When a neighbor is having a gathering complete with late-night music and sudden bursts of laughter, I smile and wonder what joke was so funny.  The dog barking late into the evening?  I am reminded of the book 101 Dalmations, when dogs send their messages all over the countryside through twilight barking – the next dog a few blocks away hears the message and passes it along until the entire doggy world is united by this friendly canine goodnight.

            We had a neighbor who would play his car stereo at a gut-thumping level while washing his car.  I remember getting all huffy and ready to complain until I looked out the window and saw him dancing and fist pumping in time to the music.  I giggled and realized he’d be done in a few minutes (then I turned on my own stereo to drown him out!).

            There certainly are exceptions to this rule, like our former neighbors who con-stant-ly yelled and even swore at their young children…it is hard to put a happy face on that.  But how about our beloved neighbor, Bill, who loves to tinker with his car and other motorized gadgets?  Every once in a while he revs the engine of his vintage muscle car with a huge roar.  I laugh and can almost see the grin on his face as the hot-rod muffler successfully spews smoke.  It’s nice to know he’s out and keeping an eye on the neighborhood while he plays with his toys.  The hum of his delightful daughter zooming up and down the street on her mini-mini bike represents pure joy, as you can see by her blue eyes twinkling from under the helmet.

            I have been woken by the screeching sound of raccoons mating in the trees outside our window.  Although the sound is terrifying, I’m pretty sure that can be considered a happy sound.  Each morning in the months of May and June, starting around 4 a.m., we are treated to the incessant squawking of baby birds in the under-eave nests of the house next door.  When the adult bird arrives with a freshly caught worm, the decibel level rivals that of a rock concert.  I just roll over and dream of fat and happy birdlings, cozy in their scratchy, grassy nests.

 I’m sure there are sounds that are difficult to ignore or put a shiny face on.  If there is an unavoidable bang or creak that makes your blood boil, if early morning laughter really gets your goat, I guess you could go and buy a white noise machine to drown it out?  I don’t think it’s worth the stress and unhappiness that comes with trying to control something you’ll never control. So take this lesson from my mother, most sounds are happy sounds.  Besides, I prefer my beer glass half full…don’t you?

(P.S.  If you don't like to hear children screaming and playing, don't live next to a school.  If you dislike the roar of motorboats, don't live on the lake.  If you don't like early morning runners and mountain bikers, don't live near a trailhead.  Just sayin'...)