Travels: Jersey

Summer cannot come fast enough. It's so muggy you'd think it's already here. I'm so lazy you'd think it's already here.
Grading & planning are dwindling and I have begun to leave my work at work.
Glory.
Today I read on the deck, sipped diet coke, and watched the light scintillate through the leaves of very green trees.
I like Virginia. I like summer. I still have not decided if I like Virginia summers.
But, next Friday, I break the confines of the Virginia border-- on to Florida and its emerald waves and crystalline sand--to see my long-lost brother the helicopter pilot.
And, last Friday, I broke the confinements of the Virginia border-- went to New Jersey to witness a wedding. Woke up with the sun on Saturday; walked across an empty street to watch horses eat their morning meal as I drank my morning coffee. Fields are comforting to me, maybe because, unlike many things, they don't seem to end. I could stare into a field or into a forest forever, it seems. One thing I do miss from my travels out west is the exhilarating openness of the land. You look around and you see for miles. You feel so small and insignificant, but at the same time, unconfined and uninhibited. The land's inherent freedom seeps into your skin and ignites your bones and you become a part of something grander than yourself. Or that something grander becomes a part of you. Nonetheless, what many people consider emptiness can actually be very fulfilling-- you just have to realize that fulfillment is often created from barren places. I however, am still learning that lesson-- And teaching oneself how to really see is a life-long task.

From this weekend: I do remain grateful for horse breakfast and soft, hazy morning light.

And on an unrelated note, I am hungry for snow-covered mountains & an open road.
Unparalleled majesty; Unfathomable power; Unbreakable strength; Unquenchable joy.
I do hope that western road opens its arms to me soon.

If I had a mulligan, as they have in golf,
I would have not quit the viola in 5th grade (because I was really good and I got a standing ovation when I did a solo at a concert)
and I would not have scoffed at my mother
every time she tried to teach me how to sew,
because I really would like to find a boat necked, cap sleeved dress with a lace overlay (color: red) for less than $ 9,000.
Man, If only I had taken the time to tediously push & pull stiches -- a noiseless, patient skill.
However, as I sat in the sweltering box I call my Jeep Cherokee (AC-- blown-- not as in blowing); traffic creeping at horse and buggy pace, I found it hard to be grateful, but gosh!
I am not a world-famous musician and I can't sew a button on a coat
and I have a zillion regrets every day about my first year of teaching and about my last year of life,
and then I remember God is in the details-- gently, tediously, painstakingly sewing my life-- taking scraps from here, there, piecing them together, covering me with warm Grace, fresh Grace-- Grace just pulled off the clothes line, smelling of clean cotton and vibrant sun.
And finally, if I give Him the time and if I give Him the material, He constructs a quilt of many colors that give real life to my own feeble attempts at living--.

I really wish I weren't so good at buying clothes and baking yellow cake batter blondies. These two talents combined can be quite dangerous for one's bank account and health!
However, despite the realization of these two costly talents, I had an excellent weekend. Soon summer arrives, which equals an everlasting weekend.
Hoorah: pictures to follow, eventually. For now, I will plagiarize my favorite children's book.
Good night, moon.
Good night, chair.
Good night, dog.
Good night, dresser.
Good night, cell-phone.
Good night, quilt.
Good night, blog.
Good night, Anne.

life is short
and worries are not;
people fail to (I fail to)
grasp it all;
life is short,
and so is my sight.
If only my myopic vision
Could stretch far beyond my bedroom window;
because life is short,
and there is much more to see than
the way I see.

I have an Idea: Beware

I just misspelled my idea. Drat.

Happy Thought Friday

I like my dog;
I like how his clumsy, capable paws cradle his face when he's sleeping. I like how he asks to come into a room by muffling a bark: "huff, huff, huff."








When I walk in the door, work-weary and burden-bearing, he greets me as though he were five and he just learned he was going to Disney World;
I like how he gives me slobber-soaked kisses, and I like how he has to shove something into his mouth just so he can make inscrutable noises.
Sometimes I try to interpret what he says so that I can talk back to him with my own inscrutable noises. Even though we cannot talk to each other, I feel like he bears my burdens and I feel as though I know his soul. His is a good soul; it is warm and it is kind.
I like how whenever I disguise myself with a hat or glasses he sees through my facade and he tries to take them off. Ineffectively pawing, he swats my sunglasses. I hear him saying, "I like you the way you are. You don't have to enhance your appearance. You think these things make you look cool, but I think you look weird. Be yourself."
Sometimes his eyes are sorrowful and sad and sometimes joyful and sometimes mischievous, but always sympathetic. Look into the eyes of an animal, will you?
My dog's eyes reflect a deep soul, one that has childlike faith: one that is content to lie on couches, accept the affection doled out to him, and dole out affection when it is not required of him.
Mark Twain said this: "The dog is a gentleman; I hope to to his heaven, not man's."
My dog has a kind spirit, even if he steals corn cobs out of the trash can, and even if he smells bad sometimes.
I like my dog, a lot.
He is better to me than I am to some people.

Today I was given another Monday morning.
Another morning to wiggle my toes and stretch my arms and
try to hide underneath the crunchy sheets that had been hanging outside
on the clothing line just yesterday.
I wanted to silence the alarm clock and snatch precious seconds for
oblivious rest:
Because I am sometimes afraid of the failures my Monday might bring--
the fear of every first year teacher.
Each day is a mystery; you try to control what you can--
But still,
You never know what awaits.
The mystery of Monday is why it's hard to get up in the mornings (sometimes)-- but hear it gets better.

Mother's Day Menagerie

Dear Mom,
I love you. I love you when you try to color my gray hair with a sharpie; I love you when you tell me I would look prettier if I fixed my hair; I love you when you always want to go to the thrift store to buy furniture you don't need; I love you when provide people who don't need to know with an embarrassing amount of information about my life; I love you when you tell me about shoe sales at Dillard's (and occasionally let me take your Dillard's charge); I love you when you try to flirt with boys on my behalf; I love you when you can't find the glasses you literally just put down two minutes ago; I love you when the phone rings 800 times a day and you talk loudly while I am trying to watch my stupid TV shows; I love you when you vacuum on Saturday mornings; I love you when you eat your salad for lunch; I love you because you are patient and kind and selfless; I love you all the time, especially when you make me macaroni and cheese for dinner.
Love, Anne

There comes a time when you must get over yourself.
Get over your hyper-righteous convictions.
Get over your hyper-self-consciousness.
Get over your excessive worrying about what you did wrong
and your transient praise about what you did right.
When you're wrapped up in yourself, you're quite overdressed.

A Litany of Hellos.
Hello weariness-- you've set in again.
Every year around this time, you sap my strength and motivation to complete any school related task. I am just tired of you, weariness, then again, that is what you're best at--making me tired.

Hello jellyfish-- you were my favorite picture this week.
I loved how you danced through the tank of water that looked
like a twilight sky. I am still scared of you, though; I don't mistake that grace and dainty demeanor for kindness. I respect that, jellyfish, so let's keep our distance this summer.

Hello exciting, vibrant, shiny new shoes-- you haven't arrived yet but I am expecting to buy you soon. However, weariness keeps reminding me that I have a lot of other stuff I can do before I sit down and purchase you. Here's to hoping you will adorn my feet soon.



Hello raspberry lattes-- you've helped me overcome those late nights creating yet another set of close reading questions for Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Thank-you, raspberry latte, for at least helping me attain a facade of acuity. Starbucks, I am forever indebted-- literally and figuratively.



Hello mother's day flowers--no-- you will not be for me-- not for a long time. But I will still admire you. And I will place that order. . . . before Sunday. You will not be forgotten. At least I will make an attempt to be intentional as to not to forget.

Hello dear person who's just sifted through themuddledmorass that is my mind-- you've just read a rather inane blog post and that will stain my conscience for at least the next five minutes.

Apologies, apologies.