Each week, on the way to our Master Gardener class, my carpool buddy Janis plays a song for us. When she heard about my periodic table obsession, she played Tom Lehrer's Periodic Table song (which doesn't have all the elements in the order of the periodic table, so I've continued writing my own). When her mother was particularly nostalgic one week, she played her mother's favorite song for us.

This week, she had a garden song. The CD was in the door next to my leg, so she asked me to hand her the CD. As I reached down for the CD, I saw another CD with "Johnny Horton" on the edge. I squealed with delight! "You have Johnny Horton! You have Horton! Do you have the Battle of New Orleans?"

When I was young, maybe eight through ten years old, we kids had a series of old records, the thick hard plastic ones, that belonged to our parents. We played these records on the record player, singing to the various tunes. One of my favorite songs was the Battle of New Orleans. Only when I started listening through iTunes, these decades later, did I call Dad and sing part of the song to him, asking him who sang the song. Apparently he recognized enough of the song (through my bad singing, no less) to tell me Johnny Horton sang it. I bought the song on iTunes as one of my first purchases.

Even Kris sings it now.

So, Jan and I sang the song driving to class down the 101 this morning, both of us belting out the song. It reminded me of the last time I heard the song on record.

Just before Chris broke the record by smashing it over my head.

The old hard plastic 78 records made a spectacular shower of chips when broken that way.

I'm not sure why, but, once again, I find myself gardening after dark.

I'm heading to Austin tomorrow for the SxSW Interactive conference (read: full-on web geek mode). I have a list around 25 items long of tasks I want to finish before I leave, and one of those is plant the blueberries I bought last week with Mom. We bought them, but I haven't planted them yet. We didn't plan them as

So, the first hour was spent building the new compost pile so that I could get to the good compost so that I could plant my blueberries. Always with the cascading list of tasks, never just do X and be done.

You know when you've eaten too many peanut butter cookies when your poo starts smelling like peanut butter.

Yeah, yeah, another poop post. Deal with it.

"You've become a morning person."

"I'm not a morning person."

"How can you say that? You're up before 7:00 am every day of the week but Sundays. When the ultimate season starts, you'll be up that early even on Sundays."

"I'm not a morning person."

"Yes, you are. Admit it."

"I'm not a morning person, I'm a coffee person."

"Oh."

When Kate approached me to coach a local college team, and I agreed to help her, I was expecting very little. I figured I'd be able to help them with at least a little bit of the tricks, tips and tactics I've learned over the last thirteen years of playing ultimate.

What I wasn't expecting to do, however, is learn from them. Least of all in the way that I am.

Here are fifteen women who are looking to me to provide them knowledge and leadership. If I fail, they fail.

Sure, they're willing to learn, they're eager to learn. They absorb everything I teach them, and apply it very well. They learn quickly, and remember, too. I'm really impressed with them. However, it's strange to be in a teaching position; not really of authority, but of experience and leadership.

I'm used to being the number two in a group, able to do the work, but not really at the top.

Kate's been in a position of leadership in many different parts of her life. I haven't, not really. When I'm at practice, however, and Kate's not, the team looks to me to provide guidance and direction. I've started doing exactly that. I've started to lead.

I teach them ultimate. They teach me how to be a leader.

A big fish in a small pond, but a leader none-the-less.

It's a lesson I'm glad they're willing to teach.