Spilling Outward

I’m in the thick of final exams. The familiar sense of feeling both overwhelmed and annoyed. The swell of warmer weather outside and the nag of projects and exams and deadlines. I can’t recall the last time I’ve been so moody and erratic. Like my brain, my life, is torn up into little pieces and none of the edges fit together.

And I mad or frustrated nearly all of the time. Sleep deprivation doesn’t help.

I had this moment of clarity, though, last night and considered the family who has to manage me right now. All my somewhat internal weeping, whining, and profane muttering. Living next to all that must be a mine-field. I can only imagine. My imagination is pretty good, though… so… I sense I’m not far off on the on the particulars.

It was late at night when I saw it clearly. And resolved to let less of this moody preoccupation spill outside of my own skin. Luckily final exams inspire only a finite kind of craziness. For better of worse this comes to a close relatively soon. Luckier still, I married and raised some exceptionally forgiving people. Drawing deep from the reserves of that second stroke of my lucky life, we'll all make it.
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Currently Watching: Mad Men (Season 3)
Currently Reading: When Everything Changed by Gail Collins
Quote of My Day: Mommy, I just like to chat. Especially when you're cooking.
Naomi Looking Forward To: Chinese Acrobat's Performance

Wheels-Up

Naomi took a spill on her bike last week. A big one. At the busy intersection she had shooed me down the bikepath’s underpass. She wanted to size up whether to ride or walk her bike down the steep descent.

McKibbin stood audience with her at the mouth of the beast and I sailed down and then up the steep slope on the other side of the street. For a long time I waited for them on the other side, then finally doubled back to find two empty bikes and an abandoned shoe sprawled across the pavement. Naomi was perched along the side of the trail crying. That awful, gravelly sounding cry that seizes up the insides of any parent within earshot.

An icepack, some ready Kleenex, and a large bandage later she was just fine. Neither McKibbin nor I ever dreamed she’d ride down that underpass. Well past her age and experience I would have taken one look at the steep incline, probably cried with fear, and walked it for sure. But she looked and it and thought “wheels up!”.

Come Monday she trotted off to school with a tale of remarkable chutzpah and a shiner that would make Rocky Balboa look like a school-yard wimp.

Last night was Naomi's first trip on two wheels since the spill. Level ground. No steep inclines. The familiar ride home from school she's done dozens of times. I watched her hesitate then mount the bike, wobble a little, and pedal off.

It’s one thing to ride a bike or learn to when you’ve never been hurt. The wind at your cheeks, the thrill of going fast. Re-approaching the task after a tumble, though, calls for a completely different form of bravery.

Kite Flying

See that speck in the center of my reel? That's the kite. At full extension. Sigh.

19th Amendment

"We shall someday be heeded, and–everybody will think it was always so, just exactly as many young people think that all the privileges, all the freedom, all the enjoyments which woman now possesses always were hers. They have no idea of how every single inch of ground that she stands upon today has been gained by the hard work of some little handful of women of the past."

~Susan B. Anthony

Backyard

In the past seven days the weather broke loose with a heat wave. All that melted snow turned into a bog and, most recently, a green-scape.

With four weeks left of my Spring semester classes, I took my textbook outside last night. Leafed through the pages, crunched numbers into my calculator, and nursed a beer on the back deck. Naomi played with the neighbor girls in the yard.

By any measure, it's been a grueling winter. Years ago I read some lines about how winter inspires you to remember the tune your bones play. Mark Strand, maybe? Anyway, it's an image that arrived with the snow and sat on my chest all winter long.

It's nice to feel things lift. The welcome chatter with my neighbors. I marked a moment feeling grateful last night for the pleasant feel of bare feet, the bright sun, and the color green.


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Yes, I'm that geeky...but...it bothered me to spend a whole winter plagued by an image but not be able to place it in a fuller context. The tune your bones play comes from this poem by Mark Strand. Whew, I feel better now. Thanks.