Early this morning, I tiptoed past the little girls' room to find Elspeth curled up in her yellow striped comforter, reading the hell out of the Boxcar Children. She started it yesterday and was near done by breakfast. This made me happier than you might imagine; at almost nine, Elspeth is an advanced reader and very competent, but she shows none of the love and independent drive that every parent craves to see in her children. After a summer where she did not devour one book whole, she did an admirable job reading Betsy & Tacy but the book is so episodic. Apparently, she needed plot.
Bea jumped in the shower with me and spent most of the time in a corner, moaning about soap in her eyes; but after she was squeaky-clean, she perked up quite a bit and surprised me when I idly said, "I don't know why she swallowed a fly. . .Do you?"
"I did," she said, nodding. "I did swallow a fly. Yesterday at soccer practice. A fly flew into my mouth and I swallowed it."
I wonder how much information I've missed by not asking the right questions! "Did your whole team want a fly then, too?" I asked. "Were they jealous of your snack?" She scrunched up her nose and played along and that got us through to breakfast.
After two drop-offs and a bus-catch and Charley's walk this morning, I ate toast and Nutella (even though it's a work day, I felt like splurging), and read Poetry Daily's archives. Now I feel sad and also
like talking
in line breaks
and dropping most articles;
Giant Maple leaves glisten
in late morning rain
that opened suddenly on us
and the sleeping houses,
chimneys cold against grey sky
-the dog's white paws
barely touched wet pavement
as he ran for cover-
I pushed my boots through moss,
dense with water
Near home, a cacophony of birds
crowded high in cedars
Sorry. Just. could. not. help. myself.
The poem for today is this lovely, sad poem by John Bargowski. Read it, unless you are already sad and do not need to be sadder, or unless you are determined to walk through the day blithely and untouched.
And remember to ask someone today if they know why the old lady swallowed a fly.
Bea jumped in the shower with me and spent most of the time in a corner, moaning about soap in her eyes; but after she was squeaky-clean, she perked up quite a bit and surprised me when I idly said, "I don't know why she swallowed a fly. . .Do you?"
"I did," she said, nodding. "I did swallow a fly. Yesterday at soccer practice. A fly flew into my mouth and I swallowed it."
I wonder how much information I've missed by not asking the right questions! "Did your whole team want a fly then, too?" I asked. "Were they jealous of your snack?" She scrunched up her nose and played along and that got us through to breakfast.
After two drop-offs and a bus-catch and Charley's walk this morning, I ate toast and Nutella (even though it's a work day, I felt like splurging), and read Poetry Daily's archives. Now I feel sad and also
like talking
in line breaks
and dropping most articles;
Giant Maple leaves glisten
in late morning rain
that opened suddenly on us
and the sleeping houses,
chimneys cold against grey sky
-the dog's white paws
barely touched wet pavement
as he ran for cover-
I pushed my boots through moss,
dense with water
Near home, a cacophony of birds
crowded high in cedars
Sorry. Just. could. not. help. myself.
The poem for today is this lovely, sad poem by John Bargowski. Read it, unless you are already sad and do not need to be sadder, or unless you are determined to walk through the day blithely and untouched.
And remember to ask someone today if they know why the old lady swallowed a fly.
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