Casablanca Garden

The garden sits vacant all during the sunny parts of the day, save a pair of little, roaming turtles. I get home from work, and stop in to smell the roses quite often, but then I repair to my house, hungry, sleepy, needy for I don't know what.

The garden deserves so much better. The gardener and the landlady keep it in perfect condition. It's a trophy wife, always perfectly dressed; on the shelf.

June

It's beautiful: being overcome
by simple exhaustion at the end of a school year.

[Breathe.]

It's beautiful.

February Forgotten

I just read a journal entry from camp last summer. I was expressing my frustration with a camper in my cabin. Mara had an appointment and had to leave camp for a few hours on Wednesday afternoon. Wednesday is always the hardest day, because it's the middle of the week, and we have the most activities that day, including camp-out. She had been homesick all week, crying at intervals, trying to participate occasionally, but she simply couldn't rise above it for more than an hour or two.

She left with her mother for the appointment on Wednesday afternoon. Just as I anticipated, in the evening her mother came back to pick up her things, announcing that Mara was finished for the week. Mara stayed in the car while her mother collected her sleeping bag and toothbrush and bathing suit. I was so frustrated with her mother: this is a classic case of enabling. She was giving her an out instead of telling her how strong she was, that she could certainly do this. Now the girl would have to wait until later to discover her own strength.

Let me bring this together: February of this year was my Wednesday. If I had had an out, I would have taken it: a different job, a vacation to Luxembourg. I found myself telling God that he needed to DO something. I felt so hopeless, purposeless, and TIRED. I wrote this poem then:

We forget

The end of February:
the slack damp girds our hearts;
we forget why we came.

We wait
with bated breath.
If your grace does not provide,
We shall have no recourse but to dive out, very far, for hope.

Today, we're undeniably into March. The sun is shining, and I placed a hyacinth in the open window of the office. There it is. February seems like a lifetime away. I know it is God who does this. He doesn't usually pick us up and take us home mid-week, despite our tears and threats. Perhaps merely "February" is a sissy example. Let me assure you, I've been through harder times... But it's not about the superlative nature of a trial. It's about Thursday, after camp-out, when you get a midday nap, and realize how lovely the woods are today, and you're ready to run hard during the evening games.

March, bring it.

Student Teaching, Week Seven

When I look back over the week, I don't see any increase in my responsibilities. I taught less, planned less, did less in the classroom, actually. But why am I feeling so tired right now?

Next week, I'll be teaching Huckleberry Finn in the two college prep classes, and also implementing my own unit plan for nonfiction in my tech prep class.

Some things that I find intimidating about this:

• My computer isn't adapting well to the smartboard. (But we have a smartboard! So awesome.)
• I haven't yet finished lesson plans for the first two days of the nonfiction unit
• I constantly feel as though I am gypping the students out of what's best for them when I'm teaching.
• I wonder how they will react to my personal ideas
• I wonder how my cooperating teacher will react to my personal ideas
• Do I have enough of my own ideas in the unit?
• I wonder if I will be able to forgive myself for all the mistakes I make during the day when I get into the car and drive away
• What if we have extra time in class?
• What if I miss important information for their lives? (Or worse, the PSSA test...hah.)
• Staying organized enough to pull off a couple weeks teaching a full load
• Job applications--yeah, 'bout those.

There we have it folks, the things that go through my mind before I sleep, as I'm driving, while I'm planning, while I'm not planning, while I walk to work, while I get another round for table 55, while I clean out the pickle fridge... And this is the abridged list, I'm afraid.

But the good news is (there should be one line of good news, at least), this afternoon, when I came home, flowers were on our porch. They were for someone else, but we got to keep them, since they had the wrong address!

The actual bad news is that this is the week that Japan was all but destroyed by a tsunami. God, forgive my skewed perspective. Today, I feel for my brothers and sisters in Japan.

Weekend Continues

Last weekend was so packed that it merits three separate posts. Steve and Meg and I left Lancaster with our packed lunches and some non-specific directions. The day's goals: Longwood Gardens and the Brandywine River Museum. The day was windy, and clouds moved quickly in large mounds across the sun. We wanted to see everything. We started with the outer perimeter of brand new treehouses and the hourglass lake where catfish swarmed from under the bridge to gulp at the tulip petals I dropped. Those hideous beasts. If they were any bigger, I am sure I would have felt some fear.

We visited the DuPont house where a very large kitty was reclining on some cacti. Visitor after visitor stooped and petted her; the only indication that she was still alive was the rhythmic rise and fall of her massive belly.

We passed through the tulip beds: squares of the densest tulip patches humans can manage. A block of bright orange, a block of streaked yellow and red with fringes like leather jackets; a block of sedate and orderly small-headed purple; a block of magenta; light pink; large white-petalled towers over tiny violas.

At the far end of the tulips, a cat slept on a bench near a sign which told us of the important role the cats play in the garden: they catch rodents in exchange for (a seemingly endless supply of) food, shelter, and more loving tourists than Cinderella at Disney World.

We traveled into the trees near the belltower. A limby North African tree stood at the bottom of the hill near the Magnolias lining the road. Oh, that tree needed a friend. Sometimes fathers will build jungle gyms in their back yards so their kids can climb all around and see the world from a thousand different angles and turn upside down and look up into the sky. God built this one. I climbed high up into it. There were no signs. I am pretty sure I'm insured.

Our legs were getting tired. We could use a rest. We passed through a side door in the wall of apple trees at the edge of the vegetable gardens and found three chairs around a little garden table. I half expected wood elves to come serve us cider and honey wafers to restore our energies. After a brief respite, we turned the corner out of the alcove to find that we were right back in the action of the gardens.

We went into the conservatory where we experienced the perfume exhibit. Wow.

As we walked down from the bonsai room, there was Kelly Neibert. Just walking along alone. "Kelly!" I thought. But in reality, I just stared into her face as intensely as possible, so she would be sure to notice the stranger to her right. We talked precious little. She was busy. We were leaving.

We braved the long lines at the gift shop to buy Aida a mini gardening set, and an African violet for my aunt. The Brandywine River Museum was closing when we arrived. We went to a Thai Restaurant and loved it. We were tired. We rested in my living room where I watched and they made fun of the new Twilight movie, New Moon. Really, Twilight, guys? Yes, really. When we see the next one (and we will!), we plan on muting it and adding our own dialogue. You're invited to come see the magic.

Looking to Summer

April and December are my low-volume blogging months. The reasons? An abundance of schoolwork and a lack of sleep. In response to the increased demands on my time, here is a brief list of things/thoughts that made me smile this week, with explanations.

Cherry blossoms: they cover the far edge of the pond at Millersville. Huge catfish wag their fins just above the surface, flicking away the blossoms to make little, moving chasms.

George MacDonald: whom I read in the summertime.

Breezes through my third-floor bedroom

Tiki time: tiki torches, back yard, "how was your day?"

Fresh asparagus: fresh anything, actually.

Bright purple clothing

A haircut: but I'm waiting til July to go above the chin...

Making my point in a paper: Auteur Theory. It can ruin a Michael Bay film without even trying.

Choosing a new book to read
Choosing an old book to read: these two acts will not happen for another three or four weeks.

Family visiting: Mom, Dan, Michelle, and Chelsea visited last Monday for lunch. We played storybook pictionary at Lindon's diner. Next week, Stephen and Megan will visit! We're headed to Longwood Gardens.

Road trip: I'm ready for one! Anyone with a sunroof is welcome to take me anywhere without notice after May eighth. All unauthorized trips subject to the whim and care of Thomas Campus Deli, the availability of this author, and the weather. See terms and obligations listed elsewhere for details.