Sunday, August 21, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
One of my favorite breakfast places anywhere is in New York on 27th and Lexington called Penelope's. If wall color says anything about a place, then the robin's egg blue there calls out, come in and rest...I've been waiting. The counter is white tile on dark wood. There are jars empty and others full of treats to eat and treats to take. They make the most delicious granola, hearty and ready for home. The menu is delightfully simple and I am always tempted to try a little of everything, while ordering the same thing everytime: french toast diagonally cut from french bread and battered with a hint of vanilla and a scuff of cinnamon, fresh seasonal fruit, homemade yogurt. The food, the feeling, the egg blue walls are something I look forward to on every visit.
One of my favorite places to eat in this city is the Park Cafe across from Liberty. They have lovely yellow edged windows and an eclectic smattering of art. Currently, the have a variety of music tour posters on display. Not the mainstream ones either. I feel like you have to be sort of schooled to know who the bands are. When I visit I usually, always, order the field goal with french toast: scrambled eggs with ham, park potatoes, thick sliced battered bread dusted with powdered sugar and sweet enough to eat without syrup, the park through yellow frames. Heaven. Simply heaven.
P.S. All breakfast foods being equal, I will always choose french toast.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
There are few artists that fill all these needs. Rothko. Klee. But nobody beats Chagall. His paintings are like dreams, haunting and fluid, swirling with color, screaming and silent. Strange, and also, beautiful.
There are two huge Chagall murals hanging in the front windows of the Metropolitan Opera in New York. They hang behind the glass as tempting as the opera itself. They are covered during the day, but the late afternoon light is perfect for viewing.
I have wanted a Chagall print for a long time, but haven't bought one. There isn't a good reason, laziness, fear, apprehension in letting a part of my real self out, but today I ordered a Chagall. I can't wait for its strange colored love on my wall.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
- O sweet spontaneous
- earth how often have
- fingers of
- purient philosophers pinched
- , thee
- has the naughty thumb
- of science prodded
- beauty , how
- oftn have religions taken
- thee upon their scraggy knees
- squeezing and
- buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
- to the incomparable
- couch of death thy
- thou answerest
- them only with
- e.e. cummings
Friday, April 8, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
The above self realizations make my life fulfilling, even if it isn't exactly what I planned for it to be. I do still want to be married and to have babies of my own, but I am also content to know that they will come in their own time, in their own way.
The above self realizations have also made me picky in choosing a partner. Maybe because I have found contentment in my life as it is, I am not rushing towards a life that isn't just as satisfying or beautiful. In other words, I am looking for an asset, not a liability. I am looking for a partner, not a piranha. I am looking for an equal, not perfect, but at least equitable. I will settle for nothing less.
This resolve was reinforced on Saturday night when I attended the party of a friend. I knew almost no one there, except for the girls throwing the party. So, I was fortunate enough to spend the time talking to them and watching everything else going on. What I observed was a room full of beautiful, educated, articulate, successful women with degrees and professions and self awareness trying to make conversation with sub-par and very awkward men. Two of them couldn't stop talking about Star Wars. One of them made up some persona about being a make up artist. (In Utah, really)? The others stood awkwardly silent unless asked a question. From the conversations I heard none of them had valid or valuable professions or interesting lives. In fact, beyond their membership in the church, there was not a single attractive thing about any of them.
If this resonates as bitterness, I promise it isn't. If it sounds trite and contrived, it isn't that either. It was just an evening of observations that reconfirmed my resolve to find an asset and not settle for anything less. Because, dear hearts, do you really want to spend eternity, or even a lifetime, with a doldrum?
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Kindergartener: Miss B, today we will go to church after my mom comes home from work.
Me: Why are you going to church today?
K: I don't know...to see a boy.
Me: A boy? What boy?
K: I don't know his name. He is up on the wall.
Me: You mean Jesus?
K: No, I don't think that's the one.
Me: Are you going to see a man who is hanging on the wall?
K: Yep, that's it.
Me: Okay, well the man hanging on the wall is Jesus.
K: Really? Do you know him or what?
Do I know him? That is a question best saved for another post.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
So, even though this isn't the first day of kindergarten cooties, it is, so far, the worst. It all started with a little girl puking all over her desk. This makes her third puking incident in the last week. All at school. All disgusting. Her dad seemed annoyed that he had to come get her again. She was crying because she didn't want to leave school, but I have a strict throw up policy. If you do it, you're out. It seems simple enough.
Fast forward to rotations where my assistant notices lice rampantly crawling around another little girl's hair. As a result, I spent my lunch hour checking the rest of the kids for the white horror. They used to have people to check for you, but now they consider it a health hazard. So, like so many other things, it falls to the teacher to do the checking. Fortunately, the rest of them were bug free.
After my short five minute drink a Dr. Pepper sit in the staff room break, I returned to my room and a little boy with swollen, red, and oozing eyes. His parents were unavailable and so he spent the afternoon quarantined at the thinking desk with a cold rag on his eyes.
The day ended on a low note where a kid, who only comes to my class for the last 45 minutes of the day, actually wiped his snotty nose on my arm as he was filing pass. Not my shirt mind you. My arm. I was so disgusted and furious that I had to quarantine myself at the thinking desk. There, I actually had the thought that pink eye would be better than someone else's snot on your arm.
I am with Alexander on this one. It was terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Here's to hoping tomorrow will be a better one and that no one will be sick!
P.S. On the bright side, I finished ESL endorsement class number two, I saw my ESL crush and forced myself to flirt just a little, and I made brownies just because it is Wednesday.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Kindergartener: Miss B, my name is not C_____ anymore. I change it.
Me: Really? What is your new name?
K: Night Wolf.
Me: Night Wolf?
K: Yep. Night Wolf.
Me: Ok, buddy. I mean, Night Wolf.
When he said he had changed his name, he meant it. He wrote Nit Wof (remember phonetics people) on the top of all his papers today. He also wrote it in permanent marker on his math workbook. I guess the name is here to stay.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
Time is a vaccuum, dears. I think someone famous said that once or maybe it is just wishful thinking on my part. That someone, anyone, would impart such useful knowledge and that we, busy running about our lives, would actually listen. Stop to hear. Start to breathe. Slowly. Slowly. Slowly...
I have been in the vaccuum. My life consumed with running. Not actual running, mind you. (I never do such things). More with the feeling of running. Running from one place to another. Running from one kid to another. Running to school. Running to lunch. Running to make copies. Running to class. Running to the bathroom. Running to meetings. Running home to run out again. Running. Running. Running. I haven't been listening or breathing, mostly because I feel like I don't have time, but also because I feel like I can't slow down. I can't stop. I can't rest. I am so tired. More than that, I have been thinking about the fact I am so tired.
I came to this conclusion.
In all my running...there is little of me. All my obligations have been filled and refilled. My best has been done at every corner. But I haven't been reading enough. I haven't been writing enough. I haven't been painting or knitting or thinking enough. So, even though I am doing my best. I'm not my best.
So, this little post is an apology to myself more than anyone. Slow down, dear heart. Go home. Read. Write. Paint. Knit. Listen. Breathe in. Slowly. Slowly. Slowly...