How Many Runs Is That?

Even with injuries and bug bites that mysteriously multiply, I can't imagine much that is better than watching kickball on a summer evening. The laughing, the teams that randomly shrink or expand based on little girls' whims, the smack of the red ball against bare legs, the bases that move back each inning, questionable calls by the ump, and chants of "I'm a wienie, I'm a wienie, I lose". Another reason why summer should not end.

Secret Fantasy #23

Selfishly, I want to tear up lists, run away, and start over while the rest of the world stops and waits for my return.

Because I will return.

I always do.

I Can't Believe She Bit Me!

Why is it that the craziest, funniest, best dreams happen while I'm napping? Good times, man, good times.

Shut Your Mouth, Crazy Lady

Sometimes I find myself to be so blindingly stubborn I can think of nothing else. Replays over and over in my head until I can barely remember to breathe.

Looking At The Glass As Half Full

Good things that happened today:

1. Waking up to 3 giggly girls who couldn't contain their noise no matter how hard they tried.
2. Lunch with my mom complete with dessert and a present.
3. Thought provoking conversation with J about religion and intelligence and humor. (Not all at the same time!)
4. An unexpected kid-free afternoon and nap.
5. Beautiful weather to sit on the deck and just be quiet.
6. My phone works again!
7. I haven't been kicked off the Internet for at least 30 minutes.
8. A four year old telling me I have the best neck she's ever seen.
9. A bag of books to keep me busy for at least 2 months.
10. The promise of warm bread coming soon.

Hmmm...suddenly, I'm having a hard time remembering why I was feeling overwhelmed and frustrated earlier...

Neruda

Flipping through poetry I haven't glanced at in 10 years...

Sonnet VI

Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig

and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:

maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,

a cracked bell, or a torn heart.

Something from far off: it seemed

deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,

a shout muffled by huge autumns,

by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.

Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel - sprig

sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance

climbed up through my conscious mind

as if suddenly the roots I had left behind

cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood --

and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.

32

The strange melancholy of a birthday steals over me. Reflection, the philosopher living uninvited in my head, asks "Is this it? Did too many moments pass me by?" I can do nothing but tell the voice to be quiet and do what my heart tells me to do. For tomorrow it means the end of sloth and gluttony. I'm more than ready.