A last hurrah

I have such a heavenly day planned:

- Read on metro. Watch speeding scenery changes. Play million dollars and a passport.

- Wander around Capitol Hill Books. Peruse all mysteries, hold on to something that is more madcap then thriller. Hunt for Cold Comfort Farm. Justify its purchase as I cannot find my own copy. If possible, buy two copies, just in case. Success means I found some wonderful Elizabeth Gaskell that I have not read; super success means I have also found my Monday night book club book.

- Make transfer on metro. Miss train to people watch.

- Walk up and down fancy stairs at the Portrait Gallery. Maybe imagine that it is 1865 and am wearing a regal creation with a long train. Visit all my friends. Pay respects to Katherine. Ran sack book store.

- Caress finds on the metro.

While I knew my day was perfect, the heavens above sought to make it even better: Hot Jane Eyre, tonight.

My Life as a Ten Year Old: How on the first day of vacation, I avoided all adult responsibilities and read a book all day, from start to finish.

When I started Hiroko Sherwin's Eight Million Gods and Demons, I thought I was reading about the strength of a tender wife whose philandering husband causes great devastation in her home life. I did not know her strength was just the introduction, that her story laid the foundation for the narrative's theme.

I was reading about the strength of family. How strength and courage changes overtime; what was once confrontational, maybe now courage to speak one's mind. As the characters moved out of their caricatures, I found myself in their words and actions. And I wondered. In the same shadow of destruction, would I have the same strength of words and actions. Or is my courage only strong when the sun is shinning.

Excuses*

The calm,
Cozy feel of my pajamas
Asked me for a cuddle.

*With apologies to Langston Hughes's "Suicide Note."

Play it Again

Re-reading: Slowly
sinking in sentence structure
words wrap like water

Not yet Nine

I had ten perfect half moons this morning. No longer then a centimeter. Cloud white tips to rosie pink ovals.

Vanity, thy name is Tree. And she has been painfully humbled as now she has only 8 perfect half moons.

Life with an Intern

I peek inside, what
was mine, became ours, is yours.
Unneeded, but loved.

Small Steps for Lazykind

I was so noble in the car. I had a plan. I made a list. I had a goal. I would be productive. I would accomplish Things. Many Things. I would not put on my super soft sweat pants, read a lost forever but really under my bed Jane Austen, and then watch two hours of tv. (Sounds excessive, but one of those hours is "Antiques Roadshow." And the other is "Heroes." Both teach very important life long lessons: "Save your crap and don't try to fix anything." and "Don't let people know you are special; they will try to kill you.")

But I am in my super soft sweat pants. I have changed to my fuzzy socks. And I have accomplished one thing on my list. But I have life lessons to learn.

Over reading, or subtle details missed

Things I did not notice, or think about, when I read The Giver in middle school, in high school, and then again in college:

- The pilot in training was released. Which means he was killed.

- I began most mornings as a student, and most mornings as a teacher, chanting the morning anthem and singing a patriotic hymn.

- "Hair like Fiona's must drive them (genetic scientists) crazy." Is Lois Lowry commenting on genetic engineering, or giving a scientific reason for the color blind society? And if it is the former, is The Messenger a comment on immigration?

- Jonas-bonus and Lily-billy. Coincidental nicknames? Or letter dictated by family?

- Was Rosemary the Giver's genetic daughter or community daughter?

- Does the baby Roberto and the released elder Roberto (or the baby Caleb and the lost four year old Caleb) share the same genes? Are they genetically the same person?

- Is my Grandfather's assisted living facility really a House of the Old?

Me as a Sharer

I brought in chocolate brownies to share at lunch. Fudgey, chocolaty brownies that are the stuff of school day fantasies: a slightly crunchy crust, gooey insides, perfect for dunking. My big plan was to celebrate with my fellow teachers that Today Is Thursday which meant Tomorrow Is Friday. Brownies seemed to be the perfect lunch time party treat.

However, in the first 10 minutes of my 20 minute break, I polished off 3 of the 4 brownies. I only have my good intentions and smiles to share.

Me As a Writer

I am not an immediate writer. I am a painfully slow writer. It is after all a process. A long and deliberate process. A process whose key ingredient is time. For example, I cheated on my leg waxer last Friday, not yesterday. In that multi-day span, I:

- Had a lunch of fried vegetables followed by apple fritters.
- Saw a very be-dazzled musical version of The Wedding Singer.
- Found an Irish pub that serves the much sought after half pints of beer.
- Made oatmeal lace cookies, drizzled with chocolate of course.
- Gave tours at my historical spot of choice.
- Had dinner with two of my best friends.
- Learned the dance moves to Feist's 1 2 3 4.

Give me a week, and I may have the words to describe how to read in traffic. But don't hold your breath; I do have grades to bubble, a book festival to attend, newspapers to read, hot dogs to eat, and a niece to cuddle.

Pumpkin Eater

I cheated on my leg waxer. This is not surprising, I have never been steady with a hair dresser, a face wash, or even an ice cream flavor. I am not sure if it is the suppressed guilt or the synthetic pink wax, but my legs are going through hell.

You Know Who, Brave and True. Part 1.

The biggest spider known to pocket change crawled past my basement couch on Friday*. I screamed and ran up the stairs. Cold sweat trickled down my back as I realized the spider had backed me into a corner. My parents were out of town. My brother was out of town. My sister was out of town. My brother in law was 30 minutes away, home alone with the niece. My only other option, my best friend, was at her parents'. And she is a big, fat chicken. This is why we are best friends. We chickens flock together.

In the corner, my choices were cold, wet blankets: deal with the spider myself, or lose face by asking one of the neighbors to help me. The spider quickly grew from the size of a quarter, to the size of a dinner plate. With legs covered in poisonous hairs. And the ability to rip off a big toe with one bite.

Something had to be done. Something had to be done now. Because standing on a toilet seat until my dad answered the cell phone gave the spider the super spider ability to fly and spit venom. I can only imagine what camping in the three season room (protected from outside animals AND inside creepers) would have done for the spider.

Draped in spider protective gear - old running shoes and rubber gloves - I took the biggest, baddest, clearest glass bowl and tip-toed back to the spider's lair. Pelting ping pong balls, I lured the spider from his cave inside the wall and carpet crack. Inner instinct took over. I must have been a ninja in my past life. I am not sure how I moved from the face of fear to the face of the spider. It might have involved back hand springs and cartwheels. Or nervous walking.

Crouched on a chair, I centered the spider trap above it's victim. After a few deep, ninja needed breathes, I lowered the trap until my finger tips were mere inches from the blood sucking, mind reading spider. My fingers released. My eyes closed. A soft plop the only interruption to the cricket chorus.

Cool perspiration covered my face. I had done it. I had trapped the spider.

*Originally written as Saturday. But it was Friday, I think. The weekend nights all blend.

Lazy Sunday

I woke up early enough that I could go for a run before my sister came over for brunch. And here I am, T-45 minutes until eggs and bacon, and I am still wearing my pjs. I have read the fun parts of the paper. I have checked my email. I have finished last night's pizza. I have found my running socks.

I have not gone running.

And I thought it was just brown

Over fashionably 10 year old: "You have beautiful hair. I want hair that color."

Favorite student of the year: "It is golden."

Chorus of brown nosers: "Yeah."

Over fashionably 10 year old: "It is just so silky."


Judge me all you want for letting the hair conversation infringe into a multiplication lesson. I am too busy swishing my beautifully golden, silky tresses to care.

Reformed Library User

Not only did I return my books in the month they were due, I payed my fines in the year they were levied. I am rising above my delinquent library status.

A sad fact in my past library life is that I USED TO only pay enough of my overwhelming fines to keep me under the $25 maximum limit. But not now; now, I pay the whole fine. I do not wait for the dollars to slowly pile up, and then dole out quarters and dimes to keep my library account afloat. I pay the whole dollar. Slightly because of sheer guilt and terror - the older librarians know stern like they were schooled in it. But slightly more because I am a good library user.

Confirmation of my selfish ways.

"Would you rather have a personal penguin or a house elf?"

"Personal penguin. House elves come with too much guilt."

"oh." (pause) "I want a house elf."

It hurts to admit that he is right.

Dad on Sunday night: "Why did you finish your book so fast? It is like going to the beach and reading your book on the first day. What do you have left?"

Me on Sunday night: "Don't be silly. I can re-read."

Dad: "Not the same."

Squeals of the Little Girl Variety

I am torn between taking the shower that I skipped this morning to re-reading all my favorite scenes. I do have many things to ponder as I re-read, starting with Potter as King Arthur (He did jump in freezing water for a sword, too bad Ron was his lady of the lake.) or Jesus (Dieing to save others? Dieing to destroy evil?). Maybe, however, my Lord of the Flies loving self might be coming out as it tends to do sometimes. Proof being that my gut reaction when Harry talks about his glasses is "sucks to your asthma."

Chapter 8

Favorite HP line to date: "You there! Give me your chair, I'm a hundred and seven." Which I will use from now on everytime one of my students is sitting in my chair.

You can poop on me and I will still love you.

Niecey,

Do you know how I know we will be best friends forever? We already have the essentials in common: 1. Enjoyment of dancing in front of mirrors. 2. Importance of regularly scheduled meal times. and 3. Love of splashing. Plus, you have discerning, yet open minded, literature taste as exemplified by your love for both This is Not My Truck and Where the Wild Things Are. We will be reading Pride and Prejudice before you know it.