Just Wondering...

...how do I help someone just "push the easy button"? I can't seem to get through to her that life really doesn't have to be so complicated.

...why do I keep having visions of a sunny beach? Is it because sunshine is the most elusive element outside right now?

...what do I have to do to get over my apprehension toward tests? Fail one?

...when will I finally know where I'm going to be student teaching? It seems as if a lot of other plans revolve around that one. 

...where can I go on spring break to shut my mind off? Completely.

Admissions

All right, I'll admit it: this snow is my fault. I left my Jeep out last night. Without fail, every time I decide to leave my Jeep outside the garage (thinking, oh so naively, that it will be a clear night), it snows. We have six inches already, and it's still snowing heavily. Now, we haven't gone an entire week without snow yet this spring; however, THIS is crazy! The world outside is completely reverted back to January. I am beginning to wonder if I am going crazy. Was the snow ever even melted? Were the green grass and colorful crocuses just a dream? And WHY did I write yesterday's blog ("Just A Dream")? Because I do believe it jinxed spring! Sorry, folks. I've learned my lesson. I'll keep my dreams to myself and my Jeep in the garage.

Was it Just A Dream?

Waking up
To golden streaks on my bedroom wall
Birds singing
Flower-scented air

We walk the neighborhood
Enjoying the laughter of children
Bikes, lawn mowers, rakes, and straw hats
Out from musty winter storage

The sky is blue
So blue I am dizzied by its brilliance
And the sun is warm
So warm the long winter inside me
Begins to melt

We open the garage
And begin to organize
I sort through bags of recyling -
Cardboard, aluminum, paper, plastic -
My life through a recyle bin

We sweep the porch
Brush down wasps' nests
Empty the gutters
Refill bee catchers

We beat the rugs
Vacuum the floor
Wipe down the vehicles
Remove streaks from the windows

Hamburgers on the grill
Jimmy Buffet from the loudspeakers
A whiskey sour in hand
I sit with my love
and watch the sun set over our quickly-greening lawn

My sister joins us
and we chat
We talk of ho-hum things
and mysteries beyond our knowledge

Sunshine has moved
from the atmosphere
into my heart
I am happy
I am sunburnt
THIS was a spring day
Or was it just a dream?

Memory Shelf

Last night I stopped in at my dad's house to pick up a couple children's books for one of my classes. As I looked over the shelf of choices, memories spilled over me. Memories of reading these books, alone and with my siblings, sprawled on the couch or curled up in one of my hideouts. These were the books that introduced me to the literary world. Just running my fingers over their well-worn titles, I could recall the images, the stories, and all the emotions that accompanied the time spent reading them. I did not find the books I was looking for (a series which somehow all NINE of my siblings still remember fondly!), but I did find several other books which hold significant memories for me in their yellowed pages.

By the way, if any of you are looking for an awesome children's book series, the "Woodland Folk" by Tony Wolf is my hands-down childhood favorite. You can check out some of the illustrations from the books at http://knittingiris.typepad.com/knitting_iris/2007/01/woodland_folk_b.html. I can't wait to track down our family's old series, wherever they are, and get lost in their magic!

Welcome to Alaska

One of the Spinoff activities I did with my sister for this class was to write a timeline of our lives, then look for the major transitions and choose one to "explode." For lack of inspiration in regards to today's blog, I'm just going to include my "exploded moment" (arriving in Alaska for the first time):

“Prepare for landing.” I slip off my headphones and stash them in my purse. My stomach flip flops as I peer out the tiny plane window in an attempt to discern the scenery below. Multi-hued lines of blue are quickly taking formation, revealing mountains and lakes pushed up against each other by glistening glaciers. The plane touches down with a grinding lurch. I’m here. “Welcome to Alaska,” the man next to me smiles. “You’ll love this land. I guarantee it.” The lack of doubt in his voice strikes me anew. I have spent the plane ride from Seattle talking to the native Alaskans around me who are returning home after their winter respite in warmer regions. They are at once genuinely welcoming and remotely defensive, as if they desperately want you to love Alaska like they do. Living in Alaska is a choice. These people wear the choice on their faces, deep grooves worn by years of fighting the harsh environment. They reflect the choice in their eyes, wells of determination and experience. I have not even set foot on Alaskan soil, but I already feel its wild power rushing through my body. It is time to experience the Great Land.