News Trend Lions And Lambs|Actual

March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.

This old adage sums up the changeable weather of late winter and early spring. During my childhood years in Michigan, I remember the cold, still-snowing lion days mixing back and forth with the fresh blue skies of the warm lamb weather, and often we would seesaw back and forth between the seasons several times over the course of the month.

But here in the Pacific Northwest, things are a bit different.

Here, the varying weather does not alternate from week to week or even day to day.

Winter and spring mix themselves seamlessly together. The heavy, dark clouds roll by overhead, full of chilly rain and tossed about by icy breezes while the cherry trees and forsythia burst forth below in fragile, pastel blossoms.

This mixed-up, in-between season will likely carry on for the rest of the month, and we PNWers can only smile at the incongruity as we brush the morning frost off our blooming daffodils and run for cover when the hail beats down on the hyacinth.

March may come in like a lion and leave like a lamb in some climates, but here in my little corner of the world, this is the month when the lion and the lamb lie down together.

The lion-hearted temperatures may have been about 45 F/ 7 C during our walk yesterday,

but my fully recuperated lamb, Ranger enjoyed himself all the same.

News Trend The Sweetest Songs|Actual

Luna (left) and Sirius wait with me while Ranger takes his long post-walk drink from the front yard birdbath. Cedric had already gone inside for his dinner.

My daily walk with Ranger is more than a two-part harmony.

Our three kittens often join in to make our ritual a full-on symphony.

When we return, Ranger and I are often greeted as welcoming heroes. As we turn into our neighborhood and cross the last quiet street before stepping into our yard, our friendly little cats turn out to meet us and greet us, each in their own way.

Today was a perfect example.

Sirius, the tuxedo cat, chose to wait in the bushes along the neighbor's yard. As we strolled down the sidewalk, Sirius pranced along with us, safely sticking to the protected side of the shrubs until we all three reached the corner at the same time. Then he cautiously stepped out to cross the street with us, purring his greetings as he accompanied us all the way to the front door.

Luna, the black cat, typically prefers a more dramatic entrance. He lurked in the bushes in the far front corner of our yard until the instant that we stepped onto the grass. Like a bullet, he shot out in front of us, galloped across the wide open space, and flew up to the door where he sat down on the welcome mat to watch us approach, casually licking a paw in silent satisfaction.

Cedric, the grey tabby, elected energy-saver mode. He was found sleeping on the front porch love seat, and raised his head as we approached. Tail flicking a friendly hello, and his outrageous purring motor set to high, clearly it was our job to greet him rather than the other way round.

* * * * *

My cats are not inside cats. Nor are they pure outside cats. These fellows have the best of both worlds; we let them in and out as they desire, often a half-dozen times a day.

Territorial beasts that they are, my boys don't go far. Mostly, they sun themselves in our enclosed backyard, in any one of a dozen coveted sleeping spots, and when they are ready for a bit of sport, climb about on the fences to stir up the neighbors' dogs and do a bit of exploring. Thankfully, we live on a quiet street filled with pet-friendly people. My cats are even playmates with the other neighborhood cats - we often find a little gang of them romping together in our backyard. And whenever we humans open the door and call to our boys, they almost always come obediently running.

Yes, we do worry sometimes. On hot summer nights, the cats often choose to sleep outside and we hold our breath until they greet us at the door the next morning. On wet and wild stormy days like today, I pray that their shelters are dry and snug, and that they will remember to duck their little kitten heads when the branches go sailing by.

But pets are like children. As much as we want them always to be safe, we can't wrap them up in bubble wrap and stash them in the closet. To live full, happy, well-rounded lives, my cats simply must be allowed to play outside. Just as we do for our human children, we parents of pets must take as many precautions as is reasonable, then open the door and say, "Good luck out there. Keep your head on straight and come back safe."

And though we worry about our furry babies, the moments when they safely return are the sweetest songs of all.

News Trend Center Stage|Actual

Spring has sprung early here in the Pacific Northwest - both inside and out - and I could not be happier.

Yes, it is possible, practical and probably more polite to purchase blooming branches at a flower stand, or snip them from your own garden.

But I'll confess that I wangled these branches off a tree blooming along the path of my daily walk. Don't worry - they weren't on private property but growing from a neglected, unkempt specimen hidden by several big fir trees and a tangle of brush. I snapped them off in a moment of passion and have no regrets.

I also have no regrets about sweeping everything else off my living room mantle and letting this profusion of pink steal the show.

Because when pink blossoms arrive after a long, grey, Washington winter, they deserve center stage.

News Trend Life As A Math Teacher: Sweet Inspiration|Actual

When I'm working with my students, marching through math lessons together during the morning and early afternoon hours of my day, my brain is totally focused.

Normally one to have a thousand thoughts dancing through my head, my algebra-teacher brain singularly zones in on such scrumptious topics as inverse variations. Rationalized denominators, and quadratic equations. Nothing distracts me from my numbers.

Well. Normally, that is true. But today proved an exception

Today, as I was seated at the dining room table in my student's home, I looked over at her face to see if she was getting my instruction. Inadvertently, I glanced over her shoulder to take in the scene behind her.

And BOOM. My head exploded.

Painted a pale shade of grey and offset by the grey-green walls, this adorable piece grounds a grouping of light neutrals and projects a calm, soothing authority.

This lovely grey cupboard - which I've passed by literally hundreds of times on my way in and out of the house - suddenly spoke to me.

"I just might be the answer to your family room decorating dilemma," she said. "If you painted your pine TV cupboard a serene shade of light grey like me, you could cut back on the number of competing natural wood surfaces in that room, bring more light into a dark corner, and refresh an old piece of furniture all at the same time."

Accessorized with metal geometrics and white twinkle lights, this cupboard and I already speak the same language. I wonder if she can simplify square roots?

Hmm. Duly noted, cute cupboard. You have given me a lot to think about and I appreciate your sweet inspiration.

And then, gathering up my composure and laying these thoughts aside for another time, I went back to factoring trinomials.

* * * * *

Read more stories about my life as a math teacher:

Social Distancing

Playing With A Full Deck

The (Math) Joke's On Me

Sharing Life

Little Brothers

Sweet Inspiration

My Hero

What I Do

Number 15

Christmas Edition

3.1415926

Buy It And Burn It

In Honor Of James K. Polk

House Tours

My Deep Gladness

Isolating The Radical

By The Numbers

Teaching My Own: High School Art And Algebra

News Trend Me And My Lucky Charm|Actual

On this St. Paddy's day, here's an old Gaelic blessing from my sweet full-blooded Irishman to you.

May the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face;

the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,

may God hold you in the palm of his hand.

Oh, and that's from me as well. I may not have much Irish blood but I've got plenty of blarney

News Trend Finals Week|Actual

During my college dayzz, I lived in the dorm for eight quarters.

And each and every one of those quarters, during finals week, usually around midnight on Monday night, a male voice would ring out from one of the upper floors and bounce around the courtyard for all to hear:

"I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!!!"

I never figured out who he was. But he yelled that phrase, word for word, quarter after quarter, just like clockwork.

I really loved that guy.

He was quoting the movie, Network. Watch this clip and maybe, on behalf of stressed-out college students everywhere who are cramming for finals this week, you'll get up from your chair, run to your window, open it up, stick out your head, and yell that legendary phrase.

Listen carefully, and you might just hear me yelling too.

News Trend Feeling Good And Sassy|Actual

Ranger has always been allowed to sleep on our bed, with certain caveats.

No pillow sharing. Ranger's place is at the foot of the bed, and he's fine with that.

No monopolizing the blankets. In fact, Ranger doesn't like our fuzzy comforter so he lies only on this sheet that I so generously provided for his comfort.

All in all, Ranger is a very agreeable bedfellow and has warmed my toes on many a chilly night. On days when I must get up early, though, he is a terrible influence and has often caused me to be late.

In the three weeks since he was attacked and injured by another dog, Ranger's life has gone right back to normal.

Oh, well, certainly the first few days were a bit rough, but since then:

His cheerful and bouncy disposition is back in full force.

His wounds have healed far better than the vets predicted.

And after going silent for most of that first post-accident week, his automatic time-for-my-walk! Alarm system is fully functioning once again.

For the most part, Ranger has returned smack dab to his old schedule, and much to our amusement, refuses to recognize a few needed changes to his routine.

Case in point: for the last decade, Ranger has taken two pills at bedtime, rolled up into balls of cheddar cheese. His clever nose demands that we create a third, empty cheese ball as a decoy; rather than give him time to sniff round the first two and possibly pick out the pills (which he did a dozen times before we got wise), we hold that blank ball out for last so he will gulp down the medicine-filled cheese balls in his hurry to get them all.

Since the accident, we've been giving him two extra pills at bedtime - a dose of antibiotics that was first prescribed to ward off infection from the dog bites but now seems to be keeping his skin healed and healthy.

Which means that Ranger now gets five - five! - cheese balls at bedtime each night.

However, creature of habit that he is, he often turns and walks out of the kitchen after three cheese balls, oblivious to the two remaining tidbits awaiting him on the counter. Takes a fair amount of prompting to coax him back in to finish the party.

Once he remembers the drill, Ranger is more than happy to eat the last two treats.

The simple face is that he is used to three cheese balls. Not five. And the old habit is still firm in his sweet red noggin.

* * * * *

But just as he refuses to adapt to some changes to his regime, my boy has learned some new tricks all on his own.

Here's the one that's really got me up in arms.

Ranger no longer tolerates my late-night work sessions.

Before the accident, he would stay downstairs with me and snooze nearby as I typed and scrolled till two or three a.M., moving from the couch to the floor under my desk and back again. Always patiently did he wait for me to finish up, and when I turned off the lights and called to him, he would groggily rise to his feet and clamber up the stairs to the bedroom where he slept all night long.

But no more.

Now, around midnight, when the rest of the family migrates up the stairs toward bed, Ranger comes in to find me at the computer and begins a barrage of barking and whining noises calibrated to wake the dead. Utterly inconsolable, he pauses for nothing but the occasional drink of water until he gets what he wants.

And what he wants is for me to snap off the lights, close down the computer, and head upstairs.

Honestly, my best guess is that he wants to fall into his deep sleep for the night without having to worry about my movements.

But the bottom line is that my ornery dog is now telling me when to go to bed.

Not exactly sure how I feel about his headstrong ways. But it's nice to know that my boy, Ranger, is feeling good and sassy again.