The Donadoni Academy dismissed the student body last Friday and wished them a happy and safe winter vacation. As the Principal, I felt a strong sense of pride and accomplishment that we had weathered every storm and continued to learn and thrive during that arduous chunk of time when we stumble from the gluttonous highs of the holidays to the frightening wind chill lows of February. Of course, I tried to remain humble and remember that after vacation, the school year would come flashing by faster than the streaker at the Super Bowl, leaving me little time to enjoy the “we are on vacation now” moment.

So we blinked and it was over. Amazing how time is something that can be quantified so precisely, yet can move along nebulously at its own pace. You either have time. Or you don’t. But sometimes you need to make time? I don’t want to get too deep here, but I sure am grateful for how time works. Because someTIMES, I have a memorable time like today…

When the Academy’s bus driver is going here, there, everywhere and back again so kids can be connected to the people, places, and things, that are keeping them connected to the real world and I am left with my head in the cupboards looking for the perfect pot to boil spaghetti then I think we are doing ok. And I usually think I have enough time to make dinner…

Until, of course you consider that with untrustworthy vision that lacks depth perception- the selection of the right sized pot can be a sketchy proposition. Actually, the correct amount of water, and splash of olive oil is also an ambitious goal. So as the Uber Mom Bus Driver speeds around Danvers picking up, dropping off, rinsing and repeating, here I am staring at what should be easy. Boil water and make pasta. Heat Meatballs.

Eventually. I found the pot I wanted to boil my spaghetti in. I needed Italian music to serenade me as I turned the stove on. But wouldn’t you know it, there was a piece of plastic on the bottom of the prodigal pot that I had found. And yes, when the burner turned on- the piece of something that Wally probably chewed up and got stuck to the bottom of what is now my treasured spaghetti pot went up in flames…

I didn’t have to call the fire department. I didn’t even have to call my mom. Or my neighbor. I calmly extinguished the flame, gathered what remained of my pasta pride and continued cooking.

Dinner went great. There was peace and serenity and just a little bit of smoky plastic smell in the air. Most importantly, it was as if time had stood still while I prepared the meal, and then flew by while they sucked it down and ran away. Such is life. And it’s good. Hopefully, we can do takeout next Monday.

The lesson is that if the pot calls the kettle and says I have a thing stuck to my bottom- do not place me on the burner. Or I will catch fire, and turn black. Hence, the pot calling the kettle…

Thanks for Coming!