So, I had a poem all ready to go tonight, and then I realized it was a bit too confessional, and it was about a work thing, and I’m really not into creating worktime drama. We have drama enough, working with adolescents.
Instead, I will have to draw on other inspiration today, which, in my rush to get to school, frantic but hilarious prep time (thanks to my shared workspace with my uproarious and giggly colleagues), and various responsibilities at this job I love, isn’t that hard to find. I listened to this while working on letters of recommendation:
which pretty much explains why I feel like I have two arts: teaching language and twisting it to fit this experience that is Life with a big ole’ L. The feeling I have while collaborating with a colleague to create new curriculum and the feeling I have sitting here waiting for the fingers to start flying are one and the same. I get to have two jobs I love, and that is a blessing. Two, actually.
I also ran into this:
I did not “lean in” today. Instead I leaned sideways and let some things whoosh right by me. That’s okay.
Also, I watched Andrea Gibson’s list of “Things that Don’t Suck”, which made me smile the whole way through. I can’t figure out how to link to it, so you should add Andrea on the FB and watch it. I’ll try to include the link here:
That, combined with my Mom’s stories about my incomparable Grandparents make me want to write a “Count the Blessings” poem. Or really, a “Things that Don’t Suck” Poem. Because anything that doesn’t suck counts as a blessing these days.
Things of Matter
The before school kisses, those don’t stink. The partnership, that pretty much rocks. The foot on the brake, slowing despite your haste, so that you can see, and really see, the sky reflected on the river, that is the stuff of blessings. The hugs, the need, upon arriving at my work. Colleague giggles, giggles until tears, that is a blessed load. Collaboration. Partners in the work. The paraverbal communication that makes me know your eyeroll, the endeavors of artists working in many mediums, coffee pots, full, those don’t stink. Treats in the afternoon. Paperclips when you need to find them, a desk without a home, bracelets full of wisdom, yarn, big smiles on spotty faces. This is a life full of treasure. A silent drive home and an ancient car that keeps turning over. Bird refuges, and again the sky lying on the water. Seasons. A cheerleading squad upon walking in the door. Homemade sauce. Parents. Grandparents. Best friends falling in love. Keeping the fish and houseplants alive with love. Fishing in the dark. “Good Night, Nachos”, in Russian. Small, small sleeping bags and sisters who want to share a room. Green walls and portraits of dead artists. Stretching in the kitchen, because the butcher block is about as tall a a barre. Tunes that make sirens of fingers. Bedtime stories with good illustrations. Sleeping children. Homemade Halloween costumes. Bass. A welcoming and accommodating spine. Lunchtime packing zen. A room of one’s own with flower walls. Creek sitting in the dark to find new words. Creek sounds leaning on rain. The leaves that slip. Sitting alone without loneliness. Waiting for signs and flashes of words like a sermon, waiting for the care to come settling down and anticipating the morning mist of a rainy evening.
Wow. Today was better than I thought. More blessings. Feels good to count ’em. What are yours? I really, really want to hear them. Happy Tuesday, you readers of poems and of pre-poems. I heart you.