SOL #20 (should be #26)
Earlier this week: exhaustion. Pressure. Regret. (I was finishing my report cards a little past my principal's deadline, and had two nights were sleep was just an appetizer.)
Today: joy. Hope. Energy. (I plan on doing a better job of keeping up with my paperwork... but you know the saying about "man makes plans..." )
I can hear the gods laugh as I type this.
SOL #19 (should be 22)
She was a vibrant person, so full of life... except around report card time. Being buried under work that she should have kept up with, she breathed her last breath, and uttered her last words:
I'll try to do better next time.
And the gods answered, "We'll see. You say that every quarter."
SOL #18 (should be #21) See below to find out what the Slice of Life Challenge is all about
Yesterday I was in a small theater all day. Yes, it was a gorgeous day, weather-wise, so I missed most of that. The black chairs, the black stage, the small spotlights--they were in stark contrast to the bright sunshine and the warm breeze that was happening right outside the double doors. However, I got to witness a different kind of beauty.
All day (and the day before, as well) writers were auditioning for the Listen to Your Mother show. We heard nostalgic pieces about mothers. We heard pieces of fierce motherhood--stories about mothers who had to be warriors for their children for a variety of reasons. We even heard a story about recovering from years of harsh treatment from a mother.
The stories were healing. It was obvious that for the writer--writing the story, along with telling the story to an audience, was therapeutic. It either brought the mother back to life--if only for a moment--or it was a balm that helped alleviate a past pain.
If you're in the St. Louis area and you're free on May 7 (the day before Mother's Day), I suggest you save the date. The show will be at the Grandel Theater, and I think it will be wonderful.
SOL #17 (should be #20) See below to check out what the Slice of Life Challenge is all about
Two blocks from our house is a park. It's big enough to have a football field (along with another space where a second team can practice). There's some playground equipment, a large pavilion, and lots of great smells.
At least that is what Radar is interested in. Some smells are so complex, so fascinating, he would stand for 10 or 15 minutes and sniff (if I allowed him to linger that long). I don't, because sometimes his smelling results in his finding something to eat. Could it be some discarded chicken bones he's crunching on?
Accck! Gutteral. Loud. As much phlegm as I can muster, I try to verbally persuade him to stop crunching on whatever he's eating as I yank him back from the dead squirrel half of a left-over stale sandwich daily delicacy.
This morning, it was early enough that Radar's friends were not in their back yard. Usually, as soon as they catch Radar's scent (from several blocks away) they're in their back yard (which butts up against the park). They're ready. Hog Dog (a yellowish dog built more like a hog than a dog) works up a froth as he runs back and forth along the fence line, barking. Snow Dog (an Alaskan Husky) usually lies in wait, and as soon as we get close to his fence, he streaks across his yard and barks.
Too early on a Sunday morning for either of Radar's friends. Bad news for him, good news for my arm (because I have to pull and pull and pull Radar into the middle of the football field and away from the yards... otherwise, he's leaping and twisting like a bucking bronco in a rodeo).
Ahh. Early morning walks...
