Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to
But trust the hours. Haven’t they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again,
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for new love is faithfulness to the old.
Don’t go too early.
You’re tired. But everyone’s tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear,
the flute of your whole existence,
rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.
(My third grade Language Arts teacher, Mrs. Denman would run around and sing this song whenever it was anyone’s birthday!)
Today is my 22nd birthday! I feel like it’s my first adult birthday. I know technically your 21st birthday is, but I had too much fun last year last year to have considered it an “adult” birthday.
Today’s Birthday Agenda
-I went to my student teaching placement this morning and it was a lot of fun! The students in my first and second period classes (tenth grade English) talked about their opinions regarding various issues surrounding the Terri Schiavo case by moving to different signs posted around the room ranging from “Strongly Agree” to “Strongly Disagree.” The activity was designed to help prepare them to write a position paper, and it was really interesting to hear their views on family, marriage, and decision-making. My fourth period class is discussing Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried, which they read over the summer. Today they all brought in a small bag of things they would carry with them to war, and everyone shared their items with the class. It was a really fun day to be a student teacher!
-For lunch I went to Chick Fil A with three girls from my cohort and got a delicious chicken salad sandwich, fries, and sweet tea. And the manager gave me a free brownie since it was my birthday!
-I had class from 1:30-3, and we learned about research analysis… not so exciting, but necessary.
-Right now I’m doing some lesson planning to prepare to teach next week (my partner and I are co-teaching first and second period Monday-Thursday next week! Ahh!) and listening to the Wilco station on Pandora radio.
-Tonight’s plans include eating Mexican food, margaritas, Jersey Shore, and girls’ night in with two of my best friends.
What a wonderful birthday!
Readers, what’s your favorite way to celebrate your birthday? Do you like to go all out or keep it low-key?
–And when you have forgotten the bright bedclothes on a Wednesday and a Saturday,
And most especially when you have forgotten Sunday–
When you have forgotten Sunday halves in bed,
Or me sitting on the front-room radiator in the limping afternoon
Looking off down the long street
Hugged by my plain old wrapper of no-expectation
And nothing-I-have-to-do and I’m-happy-why?
When you have forgotten that, I say;
And how you swore, if somebody beeped the bell,
And how my heart played hopscotch if the telephone rang;
And how we finally went to Sunday dinner,
That is to say, went across the front room floor to the ink-spotted table in the southwest corner
To Sunday dinner, which was always chicken and noodles
Or chicken and rice
And salad and rye bread and tea
And chocolate chip cookies–
I say, when you have forgotten that,
When you have forgotten my little presentiment
That the war would be over before they got to you;
And how we finally undressed and whipped out the light and flowed into bed,
And lay loose-limbed for a moment in the week-end
Then gently folded into each other–
When you have, I say, forgotten all that,
Then you may tell,
Then I may believe
You have forgotten me well.
Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.
“Home” by Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros