I know what you mean about narrative threads. I’d ask the universe to strive toward telepathic communication, but I’m quite sure it’s zooming toward that sort of microchip technology regardless, and lets-not-rush-things. Mainly I’m too lazy and ma-laisey to communicate with anyone, via email, social networking, spoken word… Like it was all I could do to tell J.Lo I bought a basic sweatshirt jacket at Target. Must. Force. Self. To. Share More. But then sometimes I get caught up in this internal debate between Speaking and Not Speaking. From the deep to the mundane. Should I, shouldn’t I? What are the merits? Silence is golden. But no man is an island. And so forth.
Mainly I am pollen-coated penelope. It’s a little better this week, with either the non-expired zyrtec kicking in, working its magic, or lower pollen counts. Or different pollen counts. Who knows. My sinuses/scratchy throat/wasted energy reserves all shrug their shoulders and sigh. J.Lo threw out his back on Sunday, so I’ve been rallying wherever possible, like purchasing mulch for the garden and planting more plants and mowing the lawn and other literal and metaphorical instances of heavy lifting. The garden! now contains: 3 lettuce types, broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, spinach, onions that I keep stepping on, green beans, cucumbers, peas, zucchini, squash, alleged peas and sweet peas (still burrowed beneath the earth? on the brink of emergence?), one tomato plant for now (grape roma), jalapeno peppers, and a yellow pepper. And other than a few war-torn leaves on the broccoli/caul, they all seem happy... Although I’m a little skeptical of the soil, like will it be good enough. So I’m supplementing with foods and fertilizers of sorts along the way.
Yesterday it poured rained in the sunshine, but I spied no rainbows.
I finished the book on the terrible kidnapping/stolen life. I kind of wish she had written it and stuck in a drawer for 10 or 15 years, maybe dropped in a few post-it notes along the way and then revisited it all. Because it was just – so very raw. Coupled with a 5th grade education. But yet had the potential to be earth-shattering? It still does. Maybe she’ll write a sequel after some time in the world.
Oh, and the mouse thing. My essential problem with your delightful fairytale mouse living in my car is that in my mind, he looks like this:
Although I grant that he could just as easily look like this:
Man that mouse is cute. So will you be seeing Hunger Games in English with subtitles, or? In the theater or on a computer. Either way I’m glad you’ll be seeing it and celebrating a girl and may the odds be ever in your favor when it comes to viewing it in the absence of snarky, guffawing teenaged boys who completely throw you out of the moment when Rue dies. Because that happened. Granted it was during my second viewing, so their lives were spared. But they were within inches. #truth
Sidenote: saw the phrase “beard technician” in reference to whomever styled Seneca Crane. I can’t even count all the ways I love that job title.
Oh, slogging through the fields of teaching. There will always be the complacent and the rude. Although I could never follow my own advice on this matter, I’d say it’s best not to ponder the origins of their undesirable behavior… Play the game (without being a piece of course) so you can shed it like an outfit at the end of the day and move on to your real life on on the island. Dispensing sage words to new friends and soaking up the winds and sunshine.
love to you,
pollenope
