When I haven't blogged in eons, I find that beginning just where I am is best. Right, then. Here I am. In a room that looks as if it belongs to another person, but it belongs to me. I tell myself this: you are the person who lives in this ramshackle, messy room, with--count them--four laundry baskets in various stages, a dresser heaped with clothes, a bedside table piled high with books I've finished but have not said goodbye to yet. I who always prided myself on "putting the house to bed" every night have come to this--and you know what? I don't give a flying fig. I tell myself this, hoping it is true.
The days are long--warm, sunny and busy. Martin rises at 5:30 every morning so he can teach his class at the shipyard by 7. Merry rolls out of bed a half hour later and then Bea usually crawls in bed with me and berates me until I drag myself downstairs to put on the kettle and chat with Merry before she leaves for school. This is what Merry carries to school: a huge backpack, full to bursting; a lunch box clipped to the outside of the pack; a flute; a collapsable music stand in a black sheath. She is quite the sight with her perky ponytail and face full of the importance of the day, her step light despite her load.
I excused myself from music practice early tonight so I could put the weary girls to bed; when I came upstairs, Bea was lying face-down on the carpet. As I snuggled beside her, I heard Merry through the wall: Alpha! Beta! Capa! And on she went, in a fabulous rhythm, until she got to "O-ME-GA!' which sounded as if she were swearing. She is full of gods and godessess and all things Greek. One girl sitting at her table, who is playing the role of Athena, is apparently filling her role with such gusto that Merry noted that if this girl does become president of the United States, as she is planning, she will probably give too much funding to the military. This was Merry's fear.
I have not mentioned the heap of bedcovers at my feet. I washed the duvet cover but seem unable to put it on by myself. I will have to wait until Martin comes to bed--Martin who is dutifully still working downstairs at the kitchen table. Once I did cover the duvet by myself, but this neccesitated me stepping into the cover and fighting it tooth and nail. Not a pretty sight.
Martin just arrived and is digging through the duvet cover. "I think you got things a bit mixed up," he says, in his usual mild way. He perseveres, he completes the task. This is my cue. I am going to bed. A little Pinky Pye--such a delightful old book by Eleanor Estes (I've been reading my tutoring students' books), and then off to sleep.
I love, love, love bed.
The days are long--warm, sunny and busy. Martin rises at 5:30 every morning so he can teach his class at the shipyard by 7. Merry rolls out of bed a half hour later and then Bea usually crawls in bed with me and berates me until I drag myself downstairs to put on the kettle and chat with Merry before she leaves for school. This is what Merry carries to school: a huge backpack, full to bursting; a lunch box clipped to the outside of the pack; a flute; a collapsable music stand in a black sheath. She is quite the sight with her perky ponytail and face full of the importance of the day, her step light despite her load.
I excused myself from music practice early tonight so I could put the weary girls to bed; when I came upstairs, Bea was lying face-down on the carpet. As I snuggled beside her, I heard Merry through the wall: Alpha! Beta! Capa! And on she went, in a fabulous rhythm, until she got to "O-ME-GA!' which sounded as if she were swearing. She is full of gods and godessess and all things Greek. One girl sitting at her table, who is playing the role of Athena, is apparently filling her role with such gusto that Merry noted that if this girl does become president of the United States, as she is planning, she will probably give too much funding to the military. This was Merry's fear.
I have not mentioned the heap of bedcovers at my feet. I washed the duvet cover but seem unable to put it on by myself. I will have to wait until Martin comes to bed--Martin who is dutifully still working downstairs at the kitchen table. Once I did cover the duvet by myself, but this neccesitated me stepping into the cover and fighting it tooth and nail. Not a pretty sight.
Martin just arrived and is digging through the duvet cover. "I think you got things a bit mixed up," he says, in his usual mild way. He perseveres, he completes the task. This is my cue. I am going to bed. A little Pinky Pye--such a delightful old book by Eleanor Estes (I've been reading my tutoring students' books), and then off to sleep.
I love, love, love bed.
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