State of Obvious

The house is still, though it never seems to be exactly silent.  Always there is a buzz, a sigh, a whirl.  Fans spinning or washing machines, dogs snoring or people turning over.  In the night, we are at our most vulnerable.  And yet, we trust. In my heart there is a persistence of hope during these silent hours.  It changes from day to day, that thing I hope for.  Some days it is a small hope for better weather or maybe some rain.  Other days, it is a heavy burden holding me down and I just want it to float away.  I turn this way and that, searching searching, I'm not sure what for.  I keep wondering when I'll find it , that thing that makes the pieces come together in the right order.  I often think that, perhaps, that thing is already here and I've just gotten really good at ignoring it.  Whatever IT is. In these silent hours, mind spinning and thoughts a blur, I let my body slow down into that pattern of just before sleep. ...

Dear me, I'd like to say a few words about what this day means.  This day of birth wherein I (you?) entered the world some thirty seven years ago, asleep.  Yes, asleep.  And still trying to catch up where I left off when so rudely interrupted by a smack on the behind. I'd like to say there is some magic formula or perfect sentence that sums up what it means to advance another year older and wiser, but if anything I've learned that most days (including birthdays) go on basically like the ones before.  Sure, there are the frilly types of days mixed in: celebrations, births, surprises, and the like.  But, really it all mixes together into memory-soup and it's hard to separate the strands. The year of thirty-six was spent largely learning to become a teacher.  Interestingly enough, I learned that I already pretty much am one (a teacher) and that there is a lot more fuss and bother than actual teaching on some days.  (Freshman - need I say more? (Okay...

The vast blue sky And golden rays Turtle dove songs outside my window The smell of freshly washed hair My daughter's soft skin Brown eyes A roof that hasn't leaked A painted picture of the sea The taste of beans and chile Clanging heater vents, alive with warm air Rosy, heart-shaped lips Chocolate The ocean pulsing on the sand White snow laid freshly down Skeleton arms of trees Dogs barking over the cat's meow A quilt made of favorite shirts And dreams.

For George I see him in the trees Tall and strong, gangly limbs that try to touch the sky “Be strong,” they say “Stand tall,” they tell me “Reach.” I see him in the river Always moving, changing fast, full of stories “Keep going,” it rumbles “Cut new paths,” it beckons “Search.” I see him in the birds The cunning hawk, the splendid eagle, the curious sparrow “Fly farther,” they call “Hunt far and wide,” they sing “Soar.” I see him in adobe In the gentle carvings of a rough, strong hand In quiet rooms of light In many windows facing east To sunrise.

There once was a pirate named Steve. He was quite nice, as pirates go, and liked to run (or shall I say, hop) all about town shouting out things like: "Arr! There be me favorite silver spoon!" and "Arrggh!  I've lost me contact lens!" I didn't say he was a good pirate. Anyhow, one day Steve was out and about, hopping here and there, when suddenly his patch fell off.  His eye - where else would he have a patch?  The onlookers were shocked to see that Steve had a wooden eye behind that patch.  It was rolling around in the socket, slivers of wood blinking like splintery eyelashes as he fumbled for his lost patch.  One of the shocked onlookers took pity on poor pirate Steve and picked up the patch with two skinny fingers.  Her name was Delly - the helpful onlooker, not the patch. "I've found your patch," she said, helpfully, dangling the patch in front of Steve's good, non-splintery eye. "Me patch?!" said Steve, reaching for ...

I, along with much of the world, have been thinking about my goals for the coming year.  I made a list and it was pretty broad, but also pretty do-able.  On purpose.  The one thing that bothers me when these resolutions roll around is just how full of failure they are, often by implication or by comparison to the list from last year.  We (general society we) often laugh because we only made it a few hours, days, weeks, months into our resolutions.  And then we fall back into old habits.  We (that general we again) forget just how hard it is to change ourselves.  Have you ever tried to reshape a rock?  That's us, right there, rocks.  Round and hard and set in stone.  But, changeable over time. This year I made my list AFTER I thought about my successes from last year.  I did not bother recounting my failures, though there were assuredly many.  Instead, I looked back (as objectively as I could) and decided it really wasn't so...

I know you all wait the whole year for this special post.  Let me assure you, this year it's really good.  Unattainable, but good.  Without further ado, my Christmas list: 1. A new sofa, something sort of like this: This isn't exactly right, because I'd also like it to have recliners - but I don't want an overstuffed, lumpy back end looking sofa.  Basically, it probably doesn't exist and if it does, I certainly can't afford it.  But, Carly keeps asking for a Barbie dream house too, so I figure why not aim high? Santometer says: Even you know it's not possible. 2. This, so much this:  In the interest of full disclosure, I shall disclose that I had a Ford Edge before.  And it was my most very favorite car that I've ever owned/driven/ridden in.  I hope to someday repeat the experience.  Hopefully this whole educating myself to get a job plan will yield one in the future.  But if not...maybe a hotwheels version? Sa...