I think what I miss the most about my normal "go to work at an actual building" life is simply the ability to get in the zone. There are many parts of my job I like enough that I can handle doing them even with the constant interruptions of parenthood and husbandhood, but the things I dread - grading tests, entering grades, making homework assignments - are so much more challenging. I have a hard time doing them at night or early in the morning, too, simply due to brain function.

Rosie (cat) has in the last couple months started behaving like a low-battery smoke detector with an attitude when she thinks it's nearing meal time. Meh. Meh. Meh. MEOWRRRRR! Meh. Meh. Meh. Meh.

I always worked from home but I miss being able to go to a coffee shop or to cowork with a friend, or even just to have some kind of exciting plan for later that was a hard stop on my day, to get some focus and momentum.

meara, I had a neighbor who would walk around our block before settling into his home office, and walk around the other way at the end of the work day. He said if nothing else, having to put on outside pants helped with the shifting of mental gears.

I miss going to the salad bar at T&C on Fridays: Jim and I would walk the half mile down, load a container, go to Waterfront Park if the weather was good, walk back up the hill. It was a "Hey, almost weekend!" signal.

That's what I need, some kind of pleasant routine or ritual to help my brain make the transition from home to work and vice versa.

I go out to water my plants and feed alley cats just before and just after work to provide a transition. Though I'll confess a few times I've shut down my work email and napped before doing the latter.

Just got back from the Otter Lake bar where there were 3 other patrons and the bartender. The other patrons were buying us drinks and reminiscing about my dad (who has been gone 35 years), so that was nice. Super tipsy, but backspace and squiggly line keep me coherent.

May his memory continue to be a blessing -- sometimes one of my elderly residents uses one of the phrases that a woman of my Mom's age (she'd be 98 now) would only use, and I'm blessed with her memory yet again.

sometimes one of my elderly residents uses one of the phrases that a woman of my Mom's age (she'd be 98 now) would only use, and I'm blessed with her memory yet again.

That's why I watch Escanaba in da Moonlight about once a year. They do a good job with the Michigan Upper Peninsula dialect, and it's like hearing my dad.

Catching up from the weekend:

I agree with Stephen King's view on the covid outbreak in the government -- needs some supernatural to be King. Without the supernatural, it's more Agatha Christie.

Not a fan of most melons alone. In a fruit salad, or with prosciutto, fine. Watermelon in the summer, great. But someone else can have my slice of canteloupe.

The animal shelter where I volunteer is allowing a limited number of people to work with the cats at any one time. I'm one of three on the late Sunday afternoon shift. At a time like this, there's nothing like having a flame point cat named Norm curled up on your lap for more than an hour, moving only to shift position now and then.