I Love Teaching WW2: War and Homefront

Wherever He May Be

My writing usually feels a fertile overgrown green jungle of ideas, laughter, images and hope where I turn for solace and peace and joy.

Right now I'm in a creative and emotional desert.

Fine.

I will examine this new landscape, grow to enjoy the many shades of dry clay and dust, turn my face to the sun and sit quietly until I can no longer fight the urge to find inspiration, wherever that muse might be hiding.

I'm grateful for the adventure.

He Really Does

Sometimes Zack comes up to me while I'm @ the computer, hugs my arm, then head butts it over and over and over.

In a loving way, of course.

The Perfect Wife AND Foreign Policy

1936: Captioned "No Foreign Entanglements"

Captions Pending

Captions Pending

Captions Pending

Sunday

Joy
precious as a giggle

floats between
mother
and
daughter

together
on one side
of the large oak table

sharing crayons

coloring rainbows

telling secrets

and

passing wisdom.

(This past Sunday, Zoe and I played poetry games...)

Monday, July 23

Today
for you
might be
just another Monday

after a weekend
that ended
another hot slow
summer week

but I have grown
to especially like
dates that
include the number
23

so therefore
this particular Monday
feels
just a bit
lucky ~

Purple

I have to confess
that a few times
in the 1980s

I wore purple mascara

and honestly believed
it made me look
Special

Pictures that Illustrate Stories I Haven't Written

A bunny suddenly moves into my meditation garden.
A sick day with my daughter, playing makeup and being girls.
My son wears his pajamas backwards.
I am having a torrid love affair with lipgloss.
We had a film shoot for Max's film this weekend.

Intimate Truths

Zack wears all of his pajamas backwards, even the footy ones that zip up backwards.

Zoe loves tomatoes, broccoli, pickles, Cuban bread and ice cream.
Not at the same time, of course.

I almost always have more than one tube of toothpaste open at a time.
Not on purpose. Usually.

Zack sometimes climbs to the counter and rearranges my spices.
Today he moved his fruit rollups (the ones that come with tongue tatoo) in front of the oregano, basil, rosemary and ginger. When I tried to fix it he put a stern hand on my knee, looked up at me and announced, "No. I like it MY way."

Zoe can now make bracelets and braid things.

I have an aversion to buying jewelry.

Zack just shouted from the sofa, "Mommy, I love you!' and then went back to watching TV.

Zoe's favorite thing to do on the computer is create outfits by shopping online and emailing wishlists to her Tita.

I gave my kids goldfish soup for dinner. Zack ate his with the tiny oyster crackers. Zoe ate hers with saltines.

July is passing, slowly.

Kitchen Encounter

It is a full day after he turned 40, an occasion which was celebrated very mildly.

The kids are watching Monsters Inc. in the living room.

Zoe is crashed out on the sofa, Zack is sitting in an upside umbrella pretending it is a boat.

I'm in the kitchen shoving things into cabinets, unloading the dishwasher, and making the next morning's coffee.

He walks into the kitchen, rummages around for a minute, shakes a box that is sitting on the counter and proclaims, I can NOT believe you did not leave me any bran flakes.

I look over and nod, agreeing that he cannot believe this.

I am completely aware of the apparent impossibility of my being understood.

I'm throwing that box away. They're stale. Look up, there's a new box.

Wonderful!

I hold my ground, pretending to be absorbed in the scientific measuring out the coffee for my morning pot, my body squarly blocking him from the cabinets and drawers where the bowls and spoons live.

When I finish pouring in the water, I push the yellow button to check the timer is set for 4:30am, wipe up some water from the counter and step back.

Just as he pours his cereal, I realize I can't hold it in any longer.

I stop biting my lip, and double over in laughter.

What? What IS it?

You've only been 40 for A DAY and you're ALREADY griping about BRAN!

He makes his face as fierce as a red-head possibly can, points a finger at me and commands, You can NOT write about this!

Today's Big Word: Jingoism