Stretching

I.

All lined up on the particle-board shelf, the glass cats stared back at me, shiny and purrfect. The toys I wanted most. My small hands turned them, my young voice squeaked out words, speaking for the orange tabby, the black kitten. I marched them about—hours of solitary play in my bedroom. 

II.

What I meant to say, when the red anger took hold of my tongue; when the tears spit from my eyes like acid rain on a rampage; while you sat on the green couch not listening—thunder outside not drowning me out—what I should have told you is I'm sorry, but more. Thank you for loving me in my smelliest moments.

III.

"Get out of the bubble," he told me, his Jabba-the-Hutt booming laugh still echoing in his office. Go do something new, stretch yourself beyond the boundaries of this small Adventist community. 

Then he folded me in his bear hug of cardigan vest and ink.

. . . .

And now here I am, no longer a stray but still apologetic and stretching, stretching. 

(from a recent writing workshop experiment).

Meditation While Eating Breakfast

Morning digs into the street behind the park, its crispness orange and reflective. Leaf, feather, and squirrel tail hide my view while I shudder from the tangy peach sliding between my teeth. The yellow watering can on the back patio waits patiently by the flowerpots, but my glance at the clock tells me to rush.

Why, when I have little time do I wish to sit and observe the neighborhood, the back garden, the chairs covered in bird droppings?

More peach, horns honking and hard hats bobbing up and down; more time taking its leave. "It's never the edges of the world that worry"—I remember that line from a poem. I worry, right in the thick of life, the puffy middle like a good pancake. I worry the edges will burn.

Weekend Funnies

*Photo credit: Creative Commons

Back to school for me means back to work testing the little brains out of kids, drilling them to see what they know so my school team and I can figure out how best to support them.

All the tests we administer come with detailed directions that we must read verbatim, even if the kids already know what to do. Part of the directions include asking if there are any questions before we begin the test. To my great joy, the kids this year have provided us with the best "questions" ever.

. . . .

Me: Are there any questions?

6-year-old boy: Yes. I like to jump and I like to run.

. . . .

Me: Are there any questions?

6-year-old boy: Yes. I have these wrist bands. (Then he holds up his arms to show me).

. . . .

Co-worker: Are there any questions?

6-year-old girl: Yes. Look at my new shoes! (Holds up her foot to show off a shoe).

. . . .

Me: Are there any questions?

6-year-old boy: (Nods). I went camping.

. . . .

Me: (to classroom of 3rd graders) Are there any questions before we begin?

Girl: Did you dye your hair?

. . . .

And last of all, while one of my co-workers was timing a little boy identifying numbers on a piece of paper, a fly landed on the number four. The test went something like this:

"7, 12, 9, fly—I mean 4."

*photo credit LizMarie_AK