The Art of Reverse Gossip

This is my 29th year of teaching.  I have seized LOTS of opportunities to participate in and spread gossip. 

Listen, here is a juicy bit from years ago.  Once upon a time, a school security guard was caught selling weed to students.  He was put on leave WITH pay until the situation was figured out.  (OF course, all the teachers started researching how to hawk weed because leave with pay sounded magical.)  

Looking back, here is what I actually remember . . .

• I never directly talked to the security guard because . . . what would I say?  "Hey.  Is selling drugs more lucrative than leading drama club?  Just wondering."
•  Teachers were livid because we were down a security guard.  In those days security guards would remove uncontrollable students from your classroom.
• The situation was never resolved.  The last time I saw the security guard was at the end-of-the-year celebration.  He was having a great time.  
• I have no clue if the security guard gossip was true.

Avoiding holiday parties is on my nonnegotiable list.  (Here is the link for more on my nonnegotiables The Art of Nonnegotiables )  But, I was more than happy to listen to who pounded shots, who flirted with the bartender, and who cried.  I am sure I passed on the party info.  Because why not?  I heard the info second hand, so it must be true. And party poopers deserve to know what is going on.

Sometimes gossip is necessary since it conveys important information - like if your job is being cut or if health insurance premiums are going up AGAIN.  It gives you time to prepare before being delivered the news first hand.  And if it turns out not to be true, then yay!  Congratulations.  You have a job and health insurance. 

I first heard about the concept of "Reverse Gossip" on the Happier podcast.  Episode 181.

It is a new school year.  A fresh start to do better.  I have decided to practice "Reverse Gossip."  Reverse gossip is the practice of passing along positive comments and observations.  If all works well, the positive words will eventually make it back to the person you were reverse gossiping about.  How great is that?     

For those Prairie Friends who want to get scientific, there is something called, "Trait Transfer" - meaning what we say about others - people think about us.  So, if I am droning on at the water fountain about Sally's negativity, people will start to see me as negative.  BUT if I am sharing how Sally always has creative solutions to problems, people will see me as a creative problem solver.  

Is there a place in your life for "Reverse Gossip?"  This is all new to me.  I will let you know how it goes.

Prairie Eydie   

The Art of The Longest Shortest Time

Ahhhh, the end of summer.  It brings an abundance of zucchini, cooler evenings, and change.   Kids, strapped in huge backpacks, are going off to Kindergarten.  Recent grads are moving into dorms.  Teens are comparing their schedules with their friends' schedules.  Moms are snapping "First Day of School" pics to share on Facebook.  

Get in that school and start practicing!  Do you have any idea how much it costs to rent a wooden clarinet?  Do you want to make me sad?

I have known for years that Gus, my middle child, would someday attend middle school.  Well.  Some day has arrived.  

Monday I drove Gus to his middle school Band Booster class. I pulled up to door number 7, which was propped open with a binder.  Not super safe, but I get it.  I explained to Gus how he would walk down the hallway and turn right at the second hallway.  We argued for a bit about how a hallway can merge with another hallway.  Then, like some kind of monster, I let him leave.  I watched him walk to the door and disappear into the building.  I sat in the van and cried.  He had officially entered the developmental stage of caring more about his peers than his mom.  Wah.   

Here is some context for my breakdown.  When Gus was a baby I carried him everywhere.  People told me I was creating a spoiled brat.  I didn't care one bit.  I knew, from my first kid, you only get to carry them around for a short amount of time.  When your kids are between the ages of zero to five years old, you will be experiencing the longest shortest time of your life.  I know this because I have experienced it three times.      

My reality is that the longest shortest time has ended and now time is flying.  My oldest currently solves all my computer and phone issues.  (Though it would be more helpful if he would figure out why the downstairs toilet won't stop running.)  I can ask Gus to grill burgers for dinner and he just does it.  My youngest writes comprehensive packing lists for trips.  They want money, not Lego sets, for their birthdays.  They don't trick or treat anymore, rather they stay home and eat the candy they should be passing out.  No more ducky pajamas, songs before bedtime, or Mo Willems books.  I often go to bed before they do.

Many days I want things to go back to how they used to be.  I want "the band" to get back together.  Days at the zoo.  Excitement about parades.  Afternoon naps.  Sesame Street.  It was fun and safe and predictable.  I can no longer generate parade excitement or control who their friends are.   I am sad my relationship with my kids is changing because tweens and teenagers are scary.  I have never had a kid in high school, a kid in middle school, and a kid in elementary school. Sigh.  But, seasons end so new seasons can begin. 

I have decided to grieve for a bit before embracing the new season.  Tonight's plans involve a plate of nachos and leafing through some photo albums.  Tomorrow I will embrace the new season.

Prairie Eydie  

The Art of Enjoying Aging

I turned 50 in February.  I was too sick on my birthday to either celebrate or lament.  I  don't really mind being 50, but I would love to travel towards embracing 50.  There is absolutely no reason not to. 

Things I Enjoy About Aging  

Wearing the cloak of invisibility.  People stop noticing you as you age.  If I want to run to Target in my jammies and a hoodie, I can because I melt into the background.  The younger crowd can worry about skinny jeans and spotlights.  

This summer's tome clocks in at a startling 759 pages.  No ordinary time indeed.

Enhanced curiosity.  I can read books about history and enjoy them.  The world outside of myself is very interesting to me now.  Of course, it would be nice if these books weren't all TOMES.  I am averaging about one book a year.  As I read the books, I often stop and reflect if I learned the information in school.  It seemed my history classes never made it past WWII.  

(Last summer, per Prairie Pa's recommendation, I read the book Moscow Nights by Nigel Cliff.  It was hard to focus on Van Cliburn's life because I was focused on rereading Anne of Green Gables.  If you missed last summer's drama, follow the link to catch up: The Art of Talking to Your Dad - Part 2 )  



Knowing the same people for a long time.  I have known many of my friends for over 30 years.  I LOVE that!  They know my history because they lived it with me.  We stir up the old stories, yet always leave room to mix in new memories.    

Freedom from repeating (some) mistakes.  I am starting to actually learn the lessons that I have been taught over the past 50 years.  For example:  I am believing people when they show me who they are.   If someone is acting self-centered, chances are they are a self-centered person.  No need to give them 10,000 chances to shape-up.  Accept who they are and move on.

This was my first album.  

This was the back of the album.  I spent a lot of time cobbling together what his album concept really meant.  

Being Prairie Eydie.  I no longer pretend to enjoy things that I don't enjoy.  Age gives you the opportunity to be you.  Just so you know, I don't like festivals, Halloween, or wearing shorts.  But I DO love Billy Joel, Christmas, and skirts.  

What do you enjoy about aging?  

Prairie Eydie  





    

Epilogue: The Art of Conversation

Already, so much good has come from my "The Art of Conversation" post.  (Here is the link if you happened to miss it:  The Art of Conversation)

My dad, Prairie Pa, sent pictures of the chicken coop he lived in over 50 years ago with my mother.  

This is NOT what I expected the chicken coop's innards to look like.  My parents never mentioned it was a McMansion Coop.  The coop is now being used as a storage shed.  I am guessing because it isn't up to code. 

Prairie Pa and the chicken coop's owner.  Maybe HGTV would like to feature the coop on an upcoming episode of "Fixer Upper." 

WARNING for those of you planning to ask your family deeper questions.  It takes time to build up to asking meaningful questions and I do not recommend springing them out of nowhere.  I know this from experience.

Earlier this summer, I asked Prairie Pa what he most enjoyed about being a father.  I thought he'd say either "Watching his three beautiful children grow into outstanding citizens" or "Knowing his competent daughter could make a top notch cup of coffee."  Here is how the conversation went:

Me:  Dad, what do you most enjoy about being a father?

Tick tock. Tick tock. Nervous cough from Prairie Pa.  Crickets.  Crickets.

Me:  Dad?  Did you hear me?  

Prairie Pa:  I don't know.  I never really thought about it.

WHAT?!!?  He never thought about it?  Being a glutton for punishment I decided to ask my mom the same questions.

Me:  Mom, what do you most enjoy about being a mother?

L-O-N-G Pause

Prairie Ma:  I really liked it when you and Heidi threw me a surprise birthday party.  

My conclusion from these conversations is that I am taking motherhood way too seriously.  No need to ruminate on if I am spending enough quality time with my children or if I am creating a joyful home environment or if there are enough stimulating books on the shelves.  I am free.  Thanks mom and dad! 

Dear, dear children.  This is the cake I would like to be served at my surprise party.

I am off to visualize my ultimate surprise party.

Prairie Eydie

  

The Art of Conversation

The Ingalls family after Pa retold the story of how the bear he attacked was really a tree stump.

Why is it that families tell the same stories over and over?  I would guesstimate I have heard the story about my aunt sneaking along on my parent's movie date at least 75 times. (Once a year, for sure, and sometimes a bonus rerun.) 

The story goes like this.  My aunt hid in the back of my dad's car because she either felt left out or was going through a bratty stage.  She waited until my parents were 1/2 way to the movie theater before popping up in the back seat.  Surprise!  The story ends there.  

". . . and that concludes the exciting retelling of why I quit teaching in MPS."

I am certainly guilty of telling my stale stories over and over.  Like the old chestnut of how I decided to quit teaching in the Milwaukee Public Schools.  It was the day students set a dumpster fire while I was suffering through a staff meeting.  Even I have tired of hearing this story.  Everyone has heard it and I should probably wait until my far-in-the-future grandchildren ask me "Grandma, why did you quit teaching in Milwaukee?" before I tell it again. 

Move in ready!

If I want deeper family conversations, I could try asking questions.  Let's return to the familiar "Aunt Popping Up on Movie Date" story.  Here are some questions I could ask:
What were my parents talking about when they thought they were alone?  Did my aunt get in trouble?  What movie were they going to? And did my dad buy popcorn because he never bought us popcorn at the movies.  What was their favorite date?  (With this question I run the risk of hearing the familiar "We were living in a chicken coop and our date night consisted of buying the latest Snoopy comic book and reading it together."  Would you believe I have never asked them to describe what living in a chicken coop was like?  Or.  Was it common for people to live in chicken coops in Kentucky?  Or.  How much did it cost to rent and were chickens part of the deal?)

Best dysfunctional book ever.  Warning:  You will be stepping through countless f-bombs in this book.

I brainstormed some ways to get your family to talk about new topics.  I have no idea if they are effective because my family isn't very cooperative.

• Do different things to create new memories.  If you always take long naps on Thanksgiving, trying making a craft you found on Pinterest.   (Okay.  That sounds ridiculous, but you get the idea.  Do something different.)
• Suggest a family book club.  The first book pic should showcase a fun, dysfunctional Southern family.  Plan on your dad and brothers not participating.
• If the book club idea seems too advanced, ask your family members what their favorite book is and read it.    
• Make an effort to spend more time with your family.  Try not to spend this time napping or complaining about the state of your mother's spice cabinet. 

I am out of ideas.  How do you get your family to keep it real, new, and interesting?

Prairie Eydie

The Art of Nonnegotiables

This summer I am taking time to inspect my nonnegotiables.  You know - those things you swore you would absolutely never consider.  Sadly, sometimes what you resist is exactly what you need. 

Here is a short list of my nonnegotiable:

• I don't run.  It hurts my knees.  I haven't run anywhere since High School, except to chase and catch my cats when they sneak outside to binge and purge on grass.
• It don't camp.  I tried camping with my kids once and it was bananas - but in a bad way.  It was SO hot.  The kids were dripping sweat and bugs kept landing on them.  The thought of a campfire was more sickening than my whining about how hot it was.  
• I don't do any "lifestyle makeover" that restricts my coffee consumption.  I can't stand hearing about people replacing coffee with green tea or hot water and lemon.  (OH!  I just thought of another nonnegotiable, I don't hangout with people who replace coffee with green tea or hot water and lemon.  Who wants to meet for hot water and lemon?  These are probably the same people who list scones as their nonnegotiables.)
• I don't stay out past 9:00 PM, unless there is a really good reason.  Like Bruce Springsteen inviting me over for a nightcap.

In June, I took on the nonnegotiable of running.  My son needed to train for a Boy Scout fitness badge, so, on a whim, I joined him.  We would briskly walk to a nearby park and alternate between running and walking around a large field.  Surprise.  My knees didn't hurt and I enjoyed setting new goals; plus, my son would loudly hum the theme from Rocky.  

My son earned his fitness badge and lost interest in running with me, so I downloaded a running app (Couch to 5K) to my phone.  It is a nine week running program that gets you ready for a 5K.  Three weeks later, I am still on week one of the program and that is okay.  I will be ready to run my 5K in 27 weeks.

Prairie Eydie, every champion was once a contender who refused to give up.  Remember, Rocky is in your corner.    

Truth?  I recently went camping and it was bananas in a good way.  Just to be clear, giving up coffee and staying out past 9:00 PM are still definite nonnegotiables.   What are your nonnegotiables?

Prairie Eydie

The Art of Phlox

How could this sweet flower stir up such resistance?

My dad, Prairie Pa, and I like to go to green houses and buy flowers.  During our latest Flower Factory pilgrimage, he innocently suggested I buy some phlox to enhance my front flower bed.  I exploded - in a way that surprised both of us.  "PHLOX!  But I HATE phlox." 

A former in-law used to plant phlox.  (Actually I never saw her plant phlox, it was just there.  She liked plants that required no care.  Kind of like my neighbor.  Whenever something in her yard dies, she replaces it with a rock.)  The phlox was light purple and scraggly.  It lived its summer life crowded between hostas that needed to be divided and weeds that were never pulled.  

Because Prairie Pa can be very persuasive, I ended up buying some bright pink phlox (Who knew phlox came in different colors?) and planting it in front of my house.  Before putting the phlox in the soil, I stirred slow release fertilizer into the soil.  My pink phlox is pampered.  It is mulched, watered daily, and weeds aren't allowed to get too close.

Days passed and my anger towards an inculpable little flower continued to bother me.  As an almost English major, I chose to look at the phlox metaphorically.  Was the scraggly phlox a married, thirty-something me?  (Granted, it is a simple metaphor, but I have been out of college a long time.)  A style-less, voiceless young woman planted in the wrong place.  

A snack I would never make for my own children.

This was the point in my life when I wore twin sets, tiny earrings, and (gasp) slacks  I brought Jello molds to family functions even though I hated Jello.  (WAIT.  Scratch that.  I haven't always been a Jello hater.  Remember Knox Blox?  A great sugary snack that I would never make my kids.)

I remember thinking, Well this is how it is.  I make Jello molds I won't eat.  I wear slacks because I don't know what else to wear.  And I get most of my thoughts from Oprah (Some things never change).  I was driven by a sense of duty rather than joy.  

• I made lunches.
• I pushed strollers.
• I scrubbed floors.
• I nurtured everyone except me. (Which was the big mistake because I became a martyr.) 

Spoiler:  my marriage ended.  I was caught off guard.  Looking back, it shouldn't have surprised me.  Neither of us were being authentic.  One of us wanted to create art and soul search and one of us wanted to ride a motorcycle.  

Divorce is brutal.  Yes, it is very common, but that doesn't make it easy or a path that people want to walk down.  It was the death of a dream and a two parent household.  It was the death of "til death do us part".  I got through the divorce years with the help of wonderful friends and family.  

In case you know someone going through a divorce, here is a very partial list of how my friends and family helped me:

• letting me cry  - the ugly cry
• selling my old house and moving me and the kids into a new house
• watching my kids
• bringing me Starbucks
• looking at my bills and setting up a budget
• sending me cards
• reminding me to act with integrity and love
• showing me how to start a lawn mower
• telling me I was lovable and that I could move on
•  . . . and on and on 

Isn't it beautiful?

Perhaps my pink phlox is me now.   I am good with this metaphor. 

Prairie Eydie 

The Art of Practice

I have been continuing the journey of mixed media collage.  (If you missed my initial foray into mixed media, check out The Art of Getting Messy)  It is hard, y'all!  I am learning to embrace practice canvases.  Though, when I started, I was pretty sure I could skip the step of practicing and move right into creating super cool pieces.  Ahhh, the arrogance of the uninformed.  I have a stack of "Beyond Hope" canvases waiting to be carted away. Only one canvas made the cut of being "Kinda Okay Because I Really Need to Work on Mantra Stamping."

I just finished reading the Young Adult book,Vincent and Theo, by Deborah Heiligman.  The author drew on the numerous letters sent between Vincent and his younger brother, Theo, to write a moving, yet extremely depressing, novel.  (Fun fact:  Vincent sent approximately 600 letters to his brother.) Vincent spent most of his life practicing the art of color and striving to learn.  

Vincent forgot to eat and his teeth rotted out because he was so busy practicing.  Oblivious to social norms, Vincent roamed around in stinky clothes.  He simply spent all his time painting.  Theo was an art dealer and Vincent needed his brother's help to get his paintings noticed.  It took years of practice before Theo even considered putting Vincent's painting into his art gallery.  

So many lessons to be learned.  Here we go. . . 

• Self-care is always important.  No matter how far in love you have fallen with mixed media, or whatever, you still need to brush your teeth and do laundry.  This is especially important on humid summer days.  

My beloved college roommate had this print hanging in our apartment.  Which Van Gogh did you have hanging in your apartment?   

• Vincent never felt his art was "good enough" and always wanted to improve.  His years of frenzied painting made him, arguably, one of the most famous painters in modern history.  I mean, soon millions of college students will be tacking his paintings up in their dorm rooms.  Practice is necessary if you want to get good at things.  Writers write.  Painters paint.  Gardeners plant. 

• Maybe it isn't a good idea to base your livelihood solely on your brother's opinion.  It bothers me that Vincent relied so heavily on his brother's opinion.     

I need to invest in some spray paint.

Today I will continue my journey of dancing between paint and collage.  I will celebrate pieces that are good enough and toss aside practice canvases.  Being a tree hugger, I will also check out Pinterest for creative ideas of how to repurpose ugly canvases.  But first  . . breakfast.

Prairie Eydie 

PS - Don't recommend Vincent and Theo to your favorite 11 year old unless you are willing to explain syphilis, prostitutes, and brothels.  

Oh all right.  Here is the "good enough" canvas.

The Art of Getting Messy

Part of my summer's design was to take an on-line class. (If you missed my post on designing your summer, here it is - The Art of Designing Your Summer - AGAIN)  I signed up for Kelly Rae Robert's class, Mantra and Mixed Media.  

Section 1 of the class surrounded getting quiet and writing mantras.  This was hard due to kids, road construction, and a short attention span.  Eventually, through old fashioned journaling, I came up with some helpful mantras. My mantras were 6 words or less and not in the mountain top yogi league.  Here are some examples:

• Pause
• Trust the journey
• Permission Granted:  Create
• How free do you want to be?  (I went over the 6 word limit here, but it is SO good!  My dear friend passed this mantra on to me.  Now I am passing it on to you. Ask yourself this question when you are surrounded with clutter or negative friends or a boring book.  If you want to be free - get rid of the clutter, negativity, and the boring book.)

I was excited to finish getting all quiet and philosophical because Section 2 was when the paints and gel medium came out.  Kelly Rae, my encouraging on-line instructor, kept blathering on and on about giving yourself permission to be messy and to channel your inner 8 year old.  She also said to follow your curiosity.  I didn't think I would have a problem being messy because my house is constantly messy.  I can block out globs of toothpaste on the counter for days.  Wiping kitchen counters?  Only when I have the energy. Me and Mess hang out together.  I was so confident I wouldn't struggle with being messy, that I asked an actual 8 year old, my daughter, to join me in the studio.  HA!  Take that Kelly Rae.

The first painting lesson focused on 3 techniques - dripping, rolling, and smooshing paint.  The 8 year old started off all organized and rainbowed all the cool colors in front of her and all the warm colors in front of me.  I skipped the step of finding the vinyl tablecloth because it seemed like something my mother would insist on.  No biggie if paint got on the table, it would probably look cool.

We started with dripping - crossing our canvases with acrylics and spraying the paint with a water bottle.  The dripping process left muddled paint puddles on the table.  I kept my paint puddles relatively contained with a stack of napkins we found in our mini van's glove compartment.   (I also skipped the step of buying paper towels because I am a tree hugger.)   The 8 year old was dripping and spraying with abandon.  She had NO interest in the napkins and managed to sully the water IN the spray bottle.  The mess was causing me stress.

This is a brayer.  If you are painting with an eight year old, make sure to buy two brayers.

Rolling, with a brayer, was less messy and my stress level decreased.  The 8 year old had no problem mixing warm and cool colors.  Didn't she remember Kelly Rae telling us that this would result in muddy colors?  When I gently reminded her, she reminded me we were supposed to follow our curiosity.  HA!  Take that mom.  

New mantra - Permission granted:  Make a Mess.  Ignore Common Sense.

You probably saw this coming, but smooshing took the mess to  URGENT ALERT panic level.  Smooshing is a fun synonym for finger painting.  During the instructional videos, Kelly Rae wiped her hands on her apron.  Naturally, I skipped the step of buying aprons, so the 8 year old and I wiped our hands on the piles of used napkins.  

I couldn't take anymore when I noticed the 8 year old had streaks of paint running down her leg.  Lesson over.   I sent the 8 year old off to take a shower, after yelling at her to not touch anything with her filthy paws and to check the bottom of her feet to make sure her creativity wasn't being tracked through the house.  I was disappointed with myself.  When had I become such a drag?

Sigh.  Before our next painting session happens, I am ordering aprons, buying paper towels at Costco, and finding that damn vinyl table cloth.

Prairie Eydie

Oh all right.  Here is my canvas.  Don't judge.  I got curious about mixing warm and cool colors too.  

The Art of Rethinking

All teachers have that student.  The student you desperately want to be absent.  You compulsively check attendance on your computer.  Your heart flutters to see he is absent 1st hour.  Your mood improves when he is also absent 2nd hour.  Yahoo!  He still hasn't shown up 3rd hour.  The angel chorus is warming up.  Then the 4th hour tardy bell rings and he saunters through your door.  Ugh.

You feel anger towards his 1st, 2nd, and 3rd hour teaches.  Why did they escape him and you didn't?  You feel annoyed with the attendance secretary.  Why didn't she shoot you an email to warn you?  You might as well go home, your day is ruined.

Flaming Hot Cheetos rank 7th on my list of pet peeves, right after asking to use the restroom while I am giving directions.

What?  You don't recognize this student?  Here are some more details.  He is often chasing screeching girls and smudging your books with the red devil dust of Flaming Hot Cheetos.  He always has something unrelated to contribute.  For instance, if you are talking about antonyms, he is wondering about the stain on your ceiling.  If you are exploring theme, he is curious about your marital status.  Oh, this is also the student who falls asleep the second he is asked to open a book. 

I was so happy on the last day of school.

• No more uncontrollable attendance checking.
• No more red devil dust.
• No more anger swallowing.

Summer vacation - here I come!

Twenty plus days into my summer vacation, I went to a lake with my friends and kids.  Blue skies.  Raked sand.  Lazy lapping waves.  All was blissful, until . . . I looked up from my book and saw that student.

There he was, trudging through the sand towards me.  Wearing a red t-shirt, black gym shorts, and his beloved Jordans.  (Dear Lord, have mercy on me!  I survived the month of May with him.  Is there no justice?)  I prayed he wouldn't spot me.  I wrapped a beach towel several times around my neck and firmly pushed up my sunglasses.  

Hmm.  He wasn't walking toward me, rather towards a little girl playing in the sand.  She had been filling a pail with sand and repeatedly dumping it out.  

My student squatted in the sand next to the girl.  (I couldn't believe he was getting his Jordans sandy.  He was always wasting my hand sanitizer and Kleenex to get the smudges off his pristine, white shoes.)  He showed the girl how to fill the pail with sand, tamp it down, and tip it over to leave a perfectly formed mound of sand.  I watched as they slowly built a fortress of sand around them.  How had I ever dreaded this adorable boy?  A boy who would play in the sand so sweetly with a little girl. 

Walking back to my car, I didn't look back.  I wanted to keep the vision of that student playing in the sand intact, until September when I will see him again.

Prairie Eydie
  

The Art of Visiting Washington DC

Part of my summer's design is planning road trips with my kids.    This year we found ourselves in Washington D.C. 

10 REALIZATIONS AFTER A WHIRLWIND TRIP TO WASHINGTON D.C.

1.  Everyone in Washington D.C. thinks they are super important, so expect lots of tinted windows.

2.  The Capitol tour is worth the hassle of emailing your representative. 

• This was a quite a process for me.  First I emailed my representative and got tickets.  Then I changed my travel dates.  Oops -  I was told there were no tickets for my new dates.  So I sulked.  And then moved on.  Out of nowhere I got an email with tickets!  Government in action.

THEN

NOW

3.  It is possible to get star struck by a politician (as opposed to sickened or disillusioned).  

• I walked by John Lewis who was sitting outside the Capitol on a rascal scooter.  I wanted to tell him how my students LOVE his graphic novels about the Civil Rights movements, but I was too shy.  

4.  The  United States Mint's machinery looks like it was last updated in 1972.

• I was surprised to see that money was shrink wrapped into currency bricks.  I would never want to work there. 

See what I mean?

5.  Allow at least a half a day to wander around the National Portrait Gallery. 

• We had a time crunch by the time we got to the Portrait Gallery.  So we jogged through it on a scavenger hunt to find the Obama's official portraits.  NOTE:  Remember all the controversy surrounding Obama's unconventional portrait?  Have people forgotten about Bill Clinton's portrait??!  It was crazy and I felt the spirit of Jerry Garcia shine through it. 

6.  Anyone who thinks war is a good idea should visit the Vietnam War Memorial.

• We visited the War Memorial shortly after Father's Day.  Many people had left letters for their dads at the wall.  The letters and photos were heartbreaking.

Holy cow, Batman!  Look at those cranky kids!

7.  The Batmobile, currently parked in the lobby of the Museum of American History, will lift the spirits of weary, hangry children.

8.  Expect traffic jams due to protests, motorcades of "very important people with tinted windows," and lots of cars.  
Many times walking was faster than calling a Lyft.  

Watching people study here is magical.  How do I get a library card?

9.  The Library of Congress will take your breath away, even if you aren't a reading specialist.  (If you are a reading specialist, you may want to pack your inhaler.

• If you happen to be leaving the Library of Congress during a downpour, here is a helpful hint - The numerous gift stores do not sell rain ponchos and their umbrellas are too boring to spend 15 dollars on.  Just get wet.

10.  The pandas at the National Zoo are totes adorbs AND hilarious.  

• Did you know they eat bamboo for up to 12 hours a day?  That is 28 pounds of bamboo.  

Prairie Eydie

The Art of Designing Your Summer - Again

Every May I spend some time designing my summer.  When I say every May, I mean the last three Mays.  (Here is the link if you would like to read about how I designed the summer of 2017 - The Art of Designing Your Summer 2017)

Top Reasons Why You Should Design Your Summer

You can put an end to the August freak out

• We have all been there.  It is August 23 at 11:33 and you are wearing pajamas streaked with Cheeto dust.  You have perfected the art of sleeping in.  Your main activity is watching Nailed It after your daily Starbucks visit.  You are wondering where the last 9 weeks went.      

This is textual evidence as to why I dislike Amy.  Who says stuff like this?

You can read more.

• The first summer I read the Harry Potter series and finally figured out what all the fuss was about.  The second summer I reread Anne of Green Gables.  Like Anne, I started day dreaming more and renaming streets around my house.  The Street of the Never Ending Hosta Beds.  The Street of Teens Driving Over the Speed Limit.  This summer I will be rereading the Little Women series.  (WARNING.  Possible spoilers ahead.  But in my defense, Little Women was written 149 years ago)  Will I still cry when Beth dies? Will I still despise Amy?  Will Jo still be my hero?  

Isn't Kelly Rae's studio DELICIOUS???  Please note that "delicious" is not a word that I just throw around.

You can learn new things.

• This summer, for the first time, I am signing up for an on-line art course.  I am taking a Kelly Rae Roberts class on mixed media.  Finally, I am going to start adding paint to my artwork with the virtual guidance of an artist I admire.  

You can teach someone something (and maybe make your life easier in the process).

• Like many moms, I am sick of cooking for my three children.  They always want to know what is for dinner and what they should eat for snack and on and on and on.  This summer I am teaching each kid how to make three meals on their own.  If all goes well, they will competently make one dinner a week during the school year.
• My youngest is an expert flipper (literally & figuratively), so she has already learned how to make pancakes and quesadillas.  The long suffering middle child is learning how to make eggs to order.  His specialty is breakfast sandwiches.  (English muffin, cooked to order egg, bacon, and avocado)   The oldest is a teenager and only graces the kitchen when he is hungry.  I am still working up the energy and patience necessary to teach him because he doesn't want to learn anything about cooking.  His first lesson will be  "How to Cook a Frozen Pizza.  It is a skill that will serve him well. 

You can improve your home.

• Since I am not handy with a drill, home improvements usually involve me painting something.  Helpful hint:  Use lots and lots of painter's tape if you are a messy.  This summer I am going to paint my kitchen and the front steps.  The sooner I do this the sooner I can stop thinking, "Gee.  The kitchen sure would look better if I paint it.  Blech.  The front steps sure are chipped up."    

By designing your summer, you can also improve your health, social life, and lack-of-yoga.  Let me know what you come up with.

Prairie Eydie