Confession Tuesday
It’s the last Confession Tuesday of the month. Time to share, folks.
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Today is the first day of school for Alex and Ella! Saturday, we were swimming in the warm waters at Virginia Beach. Today, the kids have backpacks and lunch bags.
*Sadness*
But the kids are excited for the new school year. Ella is especially excited that she “won’t have to learn anything today.” Can’t blame her. She’s got 179 days to catch up.
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Right now, I’m sitting at my local Starbucks with my friend, Danielle. Occasionally we have writing dates, which are sometimes more chatty than productive—today is a productive one. She starts a new job next week and I go back to teaching, so we’re trying to cram in a lot of stuff before next Tuesday: getting organized, finishing up projects, and house clean up. It’s nice to spend time with people to keep me connected and grounded.
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While typing, I'm listening to Lucille Clifton speak to Bill Moyers from The Language of Life audio book. Love this poem:
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"maybe i should have kept the body i started,
slim and possible as a boy's bone."
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"maybe i should have wanted less."
.JPG)
Today is the first day of school for Alex and Ella! Saturday, we were swimming in the warm waters at Virginia Beach. Today, the kids have backpacks and lunch bags.
*Sadness*
But the kids are excited for the new school year. Ella is especially excited that she “won’t have to learn anything today.” Can’t blame her. She’s got 179 days to catch up.
****
Right now, I’m sitting at my local Starbucks with my friend, Danielle. Occasionally we have writing dates, which are sometimes more chatty than productive—today is a productive one. She starts a new job next week and I go back to teaching, so we’re trying to cram in a lot of stuff before next Tuesday: getting organized, finishing up projects, and house clean up. It’s nice to spend time with people to keep me connected and grounded.
****
While typing, I'm listening to Lucille Clifton speak to Bill Moyers from The Language of Life audio book. Love this poem:
climbing
a woman precedes me up the long rope.
her dangling braids the color of rain.
maybe i should have had braids.
maybe i should have kept the body i started,
slim and possible as a boy's bone.
maybe i should have wanted less.
maybe i should have ignored the bowl in me
burning to be filled.
maybe i should have wanted less.
the woman passes the notch in the rope
marked Sixty. I rise toward it, struggling,
hand over hungry hand.
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"maybe i should have kept the body i started,
slim and possible as a boy's bone."
****
"maybe i should have wanted less."
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