Vacation

Just a couple of pictures of my vacation in Michigan and my last days at home before leaving for school. 








Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Bad poetry for bad Mondays.

Image
Cranky dripping Monday, Sitting in the back and wishing I could sleep. Getting in their faces because they can't either. It's too much, all this dripping.  Better is a rooftop than a castle with a cranky woman;  Better anywhere than a classroom of discontents. Nothing is blessing; it's all pushing.  Labor and pain and pushing. The night endures forever and  Where the heck is the morning? Attitude. She got an attitude already, Says fifth period. And I smile, To prove them wrong And to warn them with a sassy smirk of attitude.  If I can hold out two, even three, hours; This too shall pass. But tomorrow is Tuesday  And I hate Tuesdays.
Read more

Bob Dylan and The Fight

Today was a day of Bob Dylan and coffee. I sat on my bed a lot and did a variety of things, none of which were rushed. I spent a long time before noon reading and praying with the blinds open and a cup of coffee. After lunch, I worked, made brussel sprouts, and drank another cup of coffee. The difference between a snow day and a Saturday is that a day like this is a bonus. You don't have to get everything done, whatever you do is just extra. And the feeling of getting ahead is, well, heady. And the extra rest feels like a blessing from heaven (which it is). And between the coffee and Bob Dylan you have a little time to process life, catch up on the flying whirlwind of it all. For me, I had to process The Fight. It was, by no means, a good fight or a dramatic fight or an intense fight. But it was the first in my classroom, and it shook me up. It lasted probably only 30 seconds or a minute and it was more of a butt whipping than a fight really. B had the upper hand, meaning the poo...
Read more

The beginning stages.

Image
Hi all you Internet friends.  I have been thinking a lot about age: being young and being old. I feel old when I shop for Spanx (yes, that did happen), when I rent storage units, when I buy coffee at Shell stations so I can do fourteen-hour roadtrips, when I go to bed at ten-thirty, when I know what pro-rated rent is, when I can book plane tickets without a hitch. I feel young when I use the handle of a large cast iron skillet to pry open the hood of my car at the said Shell station, when I wear beaded moccasins without socks, when I listen to my grandpa's stories and realize most of his life happened before I was born,  when my bare face sunburns and I don't wash my hair for three days. Age is a funny thing; it is relative and it is existential and it is beyond me. I feel that I will always be young, that I am somehow innately youthful, that muscles will last, that hair won't thin, that my stories won't grow cold. But then I think about my grandparents; I will on...
Read more