Moojinorbit

AND it’s already the 15th of June, and my summer school version of Political Forgiveness begins this afternoon. So much for all that extra blogging I was going to pull off between the last entry and this. Instead it was a whirlwind of closing out classes, reading student papers, grading, finalizing journal articles, talking to book volume editors and other such minutiae. Oh, and wedding season back at the bar, tales of which hopefully I’ll have time to post soon. And, as I am wont, I am sneaking in a novel between teaching quarters: The History of Love. Absorbing on so many levels.

Happily, I’m coming off four work-free days spent running around with my mom, and they were wonderful. We dug up weeds rendered gratifyingly pliant from the 10-day series of crashing afternoon monsoons. We visited the gardener’s paradise that is Paulino’s and bought some roses for the corner of my front yard I’m converting into a decadent space of beauty. One of the roses, I discovered after purchase, is officially named the Billy Graham. Of course; because what would my life be without an evangelical tucked in every corner? Fitting. At least it wasn’t the Jerry Falwell.

So:

Rich dirt, fully of fat glossy worms.
New life taking root.
Water tables rising steadily.
Lightning and thunder.
Apocalyptic rainstorms, but only in 8 minute intervals. Then clear skies.
My mom, at 70, vibrant, contemplative, playful. In constant forward motion.
Brody, the Dog Stallion, and all his ways of gaping at, rolling in, fighting the world.
Katie, sweet girl, lives in a treehouse in her mind, where she keeps a bed and sneaks away for day dreaming. How well, and how little, we can know our partners.
Addie and Nolie, my nieces, growing so fast into their own separate personalities–Owl, Tiger Cub.
Days that slip away so fast.
Love. And Fear. And sadness. And dancing. And wonder.