'Tis a gift to be simple.
http://20six.co.uk/simplelsie
powered by
20six.co.uk
|
|
My other voices
Look at the trees, look at the birds, look at the clouds, look at the stars... and if you have eyes you will be able to see that the whole existence is joyful. Everything is simply happy. ~~Osho (1931-1990) 
|
|
|
How cold is it? It's so cold that...
It's so cold that the schools in all the towns around here are closed. This is the first time in the 20 years that I have been here that this has happened in our district where the children have always been expected to suit up in layers of upholstery and march out into the deadly winds to go learn how to add and read. Sure, the neighboring towns have closed for -20° F windchills before, but we of Finer Ways and Superior Abilities have never stooped to such concessions. Until now. Until it feels like -35 °F out there. Now our schools are closed too; we are not so Finer and not so Superior. Thank God.
|
|
|
Today was the January Saturday when I drag myself out of the house by seven in the morning and go spend a few hours with very smart third graders. The third graders are there to take a far-too-difficult test to help find out just how much smarter than average third graders they are. The test they take is usually given to seven and eighth graders and it's hoped that material five years above their grade level will be difficult enough to do the job. My first stop was the coffee shop, my last stop was a long lunch with Kathy who is the test site manager. I like seeing the brilliant poppets, I like the generous pay, but if push came to shove, the coffee and company would be reward enough.
|
|
|
It's Edgar Allan Poe's Birthday. My learning about his life explained a lot about his style of writing. Why did he write creepily effective gothic stories? Where did he get such dark images? Look here if you'd like to learn that and you'll also find out the horrifying diet that sustained him and the devil that drove him, too. Take a listen, too as a special treat for yourself.
|
|
|
Birds are rioting today. A gang of them, different species and different sizes, are wheeling around the yard. Small birds shooting through the air, some roof-top high, others low to the ground, cutting close to the house. One blasts off a branch, another follows, others cross their paths, all these crazy birds sprinting from trees from one side or the other across/around the space to the opposite side. They don't look afraid, they look like they're trilling "Woohoo!" as they madly charge around. Maybe they feel the snow on the way and they're getting their fun in clear air while its here. Three inches of new snow should be on top of the tired glazey leftover snow by nightfall.
Today is Jean's last full day here. Tomorrow I'll take her to the afternoon train and she'll go back to university life. Both of us are dealing with conflicting emotions about this; she loves school and loves her mother and I want to keep her close but don't want to close her in. It's life and we are both life-livers, not life-retreaters from so to the train we will go.
|
|
|
Months of my making reasonable requests, clearly stating directions, and nagging in an increasingly grating voice has not moved Parker and Cousin C. to find the floor of their room. I can't really remember the last time I saw any clear horizontal surface in the bedroom they share. Though they each have a chest of drawers and closet space which seems spacious, all of their stuff is dropped anywhere. I trot around the rest of the house clearing up their leavings, but given the constant mess and the particular hazards presented by the treacherous footing in their bedroom, I have found that I'm losing the ability to muster enthusiasm enough to work at my responsibilities. From this domestic dead-end, I tried to muster some motivation and from the middle of the eighteenth century wise Ben Franklin reminded me: "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results." And lo! I saw the light. Instead of just looking at the mess and seething until the young men came home from school, I did something different. I took myself down into the basement and set a four-foot by three-foot by two-foot bin beneath the clothes chute. I brought myself back up the stairs and went into their bedroom and took an hour taking the stuff off the floor and putting it down the chute. Clothing, clean and dirty, papers, books, soda bottles, belts, shoes, magazines, notes, photos.... Whew! Just typing all of it sends me back into the mess, so I'll leave it at that. The point is that I'm trying another approach. Cousin C. has been told that until the room is set to rights and the stuff in the basement completely taken care of, all services from my direction, save rides to and from school and work are not available. No borrowing the car, no feeding friends, no nothing. I'm done. Parker has wisely not come right home from school. C is in a panic that he will be left here until I die and he can get out of the house and he tracked Parker down by phone. How cruel is fate--Parker is at his friends' house. The friends are a brother and sister and how even crueller than usual--the sister is C's girlfriend. C. is stuck here and Parker is still a free-range slob and C. thinks he's gotten a pretty raw deal. So be it. There's a lot of that kind of thinking going around.
|
|
|
The holidays seem to have skipped everything in between my decorating the house two weeks ago and my looking around yesterday and thinking, "It's time to get these decorations down and put away." I came down with plague or something like it and missed every celebration and get-together. No Christmas Eve with 37 of my closest relatives at my mother's house lest I get the 84 year old matriarch or 2 month old new baby sick. No Christmas Dinner because my stomach wasn't handling anything but tea. No post-Christmas retail raids for bargains. No New Year's Eve bash. No nuthin'. I'm due back at work tomorrow and I won't have any satisfying heartwarming tidbits to contribute to the holly jolly post-Christmas note comparing among my coworkers. I was in bed. Sick. Yes, the whole time. My best holiday feature? I looked like the Grinch who stole Christmas--green and grim. Therefore, I'm siezing the first two days of work and refusing to hand myself over. Substitutes eager to refill coffers emptied by Christmas goods and post-Christmas fun have consented to come in and put their bodies where mine should be. And where will mine be? Mine will be wherever I want it to be. I might not have throngs of merry-makers around me, but I will have my holidays! 
|
|
|
[first page] [previous page]
[next page]
|
