Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Ari left her comforter

It's a little cold outside and I have no interest or desire to get out of bed. I have never felt more like life has been speeding past me than I've felt in the last month. It's the sensation I imagine one gets when one is chasing something very difficult to catch like, say, a wild turkey, or a rabbit. Hunters have it rough.

But actually, I shot a rifle for the first time this weekend (and I'm pretty sure it will be the last time, too. It was way too much fun for me to ever feel comfortable touching one again). A week ago, I built my first four-layer cake (although I had help). And yesterday I watched a video of myself teaching and thought, "Wow. When did I lose sight of what was important?" So I guess that's a vague way of saying that I feel like I'm perched on top of something, getting ready to sort of slip and fall into a new, exciting chapter. The analogy I came up with here is that life right now feels like I have been sucking on one of those strawberry bon-bon candies for a really long time, and the center part is just about to explode, and I know it.

The gun was a result of peer pressure, by the way. I was at boyscout camp with high school students from Rabouin. An octogenarian in an NRA hat told me that he wasn't surprised that I didn't want to shoot a gun, because after all, I was a girl. And then, as you can imagine, I found myself learning about barrels and gun powder and copper shells and triggers and safeties, and I was doing something I never thought I would ever do. That weekend I also spent time sitting on the levee, just thinking for, like, hours. I realized that any time you feel compelled to sit and think for long periods of time, you probably should. There is probably a lot to think about.

The cake came out of a lovely week and a half with Sam and my sister, who each came and visited for their spring breaks. There are a lot of really extraordinary people in my life, which I too often take for granted.

The doubt came from watching myself yell at seven-year-olds like they were adults; came from the pressure of standing in front of twenty people every day and trying to entertain them enough to get them to learn something. I'm not actually good at it. I am way too high strung. But I'll be good at it someday, maybe, so I won't beat myself up over it too much.

Today I'm not going to yell. That's my Wednesday resolution. And that's as far into the future as I can possibly think right now. Happy Passover, on the other hand. I'm going to go make a matzoh sandwich.

(For those of you who remember, that's Derrick, [I used to call him Derrin, I think] who was probably my the student I felt most emotionally connected to last year. You can't imagine how far away from the sullen, moody teenager who refused to talk to any adult the person in this picture is. Seeing him stand there, shooting a bow and arrow, acting curious about the world around him, gave me such profound hope that I don't quite know how to describe it to you.)

Saturday, March 6, 2010

output, mostly.

I got hit by a car while I was riding my bike two weeks ago. The driver nubbed my back wheel and I lost control and smashed into a median. As far as bodily injuries go, I looked pretty bad-ass, but had nothing much to write home about, except for a mild concussion. Concussions, by the way, are funny. There are three days of my life that are just lost in my memory, and I have almost no recollection of what I did or what I was thinking. When I look back at that, it feels like I'm staring at someone's grainy photographs, of events I don't even really remember. I also got a cool bruise on my shin. Anyway, I bought a helmet, and naively assumed that anything broken could be fixed, bringing my bicycle in to the shop yesterday. No dice. I guess when you get hit by a car, you actually total your bike, and the guys at shop have to condescendingly say, "This thing is toast," as you present them with the life joy that is your bicycle. So I guess I'm in the market. Also, I'm bummed out.

Our zebra finches laid eggs, and the eggs hatched, and over Mardi Gras Break, the baby birds emerged from the nest and got very loud. This is what that looks like. (WATCH TO AT LEAST HALF WAY TO GET TO BABIES!)

I went camping last weekend, with the old crew from Rabouin. Lots of output from that. Camping is ultimately the most fulfilling activity I can think of. It's like a deep cleanse. You just can't do anything when you're camping! All you can do is look at trees, breathe, and crouch by a fire. This is heightened tenfold, as I'm sure I've mentioned before, when you go camping with high school kids who have never been camping before. It's just the fucking best. Here are some relics from that experience:

SubA: This really exists, in a place called Fountainbleau State Park. Seriously.


SubB: The boys built the fire, themselves, from wood we found around the site. And they were EXCITED. Observe.

SubC: From the sketchbook this weekend: An in-tents drawing; Mancel from below, with the clouds behind his head.



More later, with writing and insight, I promise.