A Few More

1.  Tomorrow I will need to wake early and re-familiarize myself with "To Build a Fire" and "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place."  I can see the cloud of a class discussion in my mind, where I could take it, where it might go.  This is just a note for myself:  Go slowly.  There is no rush.  Read a few passages together.  Talk about the necessity of the imaginative function.  Talk about what it feels like when nothing is lit from within anymore.  Talk about "nada" and how the "nada prayer" is one that mutes the soul.  Talk about hopelessness and hope.  Talk about the clean light and the stars that dance.  Let go and allow.  Listen.  Just listen.

2.  My newly acquired television watching hobby has unearthed some interesting discoveries thanks to NOVA.  I think my hippocampus might be shrinking, resulting in a loss of memory due to prolonged periods of stress.  Just a hypothesis.  Also, PBS kids programming is amazing.

3.  I just ate WAY too many BBQ potato straws.  I think pilates and a daily walk would help increases my hippocampus while decreasing my hippopotamus.   Just another theory.

4.  I know you will say that I am doing a good job as a mom, but I feel like I end up doing so many things that have nothing to do with just watching Nora be Nora.  I am the timekeeper, the regulator, the dietician, the toothbrushing enforcer.  My dear friend Jess came over tonight with pasta, salad, rolls, the best dang jello I've ever had in my life (seriously), and cupcakes made into different farm animals.  She asked how I keep my house so clean, and I wanted to answer, "By not spending enough time with Nora."  And when I fold the laundry after we've taken it off the line, when I scrub the counters, when I unload the dishwasher, put up the pickles, clean up the toys at the end of the day, I hope I'm not completely missing the point.  I pray for balance between the upkeep of a healthy, semi-put together environment for Nora to thrive in and the time we have to play and learn together.

5.  I have been worrying about everything lately, and I feel the dark shadow of doubt around the turns and the unturned.  I am on my knees daily asking that He take it for me, carry me through it, hoist me above it, tell me if I'm making the right choices, tell me what life I'm supposed to be living.   This one.  This one.  This one.  But this one is so lonely sometimes.  I don't understand.  And tomorrow when I talk about hope and hopelessness with my class, I will know what it means because I have eaten from both hands, one cupped and abundant, the other with fingers spread as the grain falls through.