a good day
Was Martin born with headphones sprouting from his head?
Actually, I'm not sure he's written a song all day (unless you call the wee hours of this morning).
But instead of spending the a.m. huddled over laptops, today Bea buckled herself into the trailer and I pulled her on my bike through a relatively balmy, puddled world to the water-stained portable building where art classes take place. I parked my bike at the back door just in time to see three faces in the front window smiling at me, hands waving in greeting. Bea and I slipped in as the first graders rushed in the door, filling tables empty but for paper and pencils.
We studied "Blue Boy" (an imaginative title) and then the teacher, Miss H., posed while we dressed her in a black hat sprouting with pink silk poppies. She stood there for a good twenty minutes, at the mercy of twenty busy pencils and a range of attention spans.
After the final mess had been tidied and I'd pried Elspeth from me and sent her out with the rest of her class (under threat that I'd haul her to the principal's office if she didn't let me go), Martin and I sat on the edge of the table,drinking tepid tea, while Bea scrawled letters on the white board. What did we speak of? Not much, but it was nice, unhurried, friendly chat. Real lives must have some of that.
Then Bea and I, on our bike and trailer, almost beat Martin and the blue Subaru home. It was a close race. And the day went from pleasant to glorious in one of those rare, intoxicating blasts of northwestern sun.
So though parts of the world were in chaos today, with a meteor exploding over Russia and people doing unspeakable things, I was out on my bike all afternoon, delighting in heat and shadow, tiny spring irises and buds on the cusp of bloom. It was a good break from earphones and computers, words and routines. Such days make me feel as if I'm a person again.
Now, thirty minutes from midnight and bedtime, I have no words of wisdom or perfect way to package this post. A good day. Warm hours of sunshine. Simply wonderful.
Actually, I'm not sure he's written a song all day (unless you call the wee hours of this morning).
But instead of spending the a.m. huddled over laptops, today Bea buckled herself into the trailer and I pulled her on my bike through a relatively balmy, puddled world to the water-stained portable building where art classes take place. I parked my bike at the back door just in time to see three faces in the front window smiling at me, hands waving in greeting. Bea and I slipped in as the first graders rushed in the door, filling tables empty but for paper and pencils.
We studied "Blue Boy" (an imaginative title) and then the teacher, Miss H., posed while we dressed her in a black hat sprouting with pink silk poppies. She stood there for a good twenty minutes, at the mercy of twenty busy pencils and a range of attention spans.
After the final mess had been tidied and I'd pried Elspeth from me and sent her out with the rest of her class (under threat that I'd haul her to the principal's office if she didn't let me go), Martin and I sat on the edge of the table,drinking tepid tea, while Bea scrawled letters on the white board. What did we speak of? Not much, but it was nice, unhurried, friendly chat. Real lives must have some of that.
Then Bea and I, on our bike and trailer, almost beat Martin and the blue Subaru home. It was a close race. And the day went from pleasant to glorious in one of those rare, intoxicating blasts of northwestern sun.
So though parts of the world were in chaos today, with a meteor exploding over Russia and people doing unspeakable things, I was out on my bike all afternoon, delighting in heat and shadow, tiny spring irises and buds on the cusp of bloom. It was a good break from earphones and computers, words and routines. Such days make me feel as if I'm a person again.
Now, thirty minutes from midnight and bedtime, I have no words of wisdom or perfect way to package this post. A good day. Warm hours of sunshine. Simply wonderful.
Comments