Monday, September 30, 2013

dear penelope,

Perhaps certain readers of my letters to you would like something more concrete. Youll be happy to know that as this event was unfolding I thought to myself, ah, now finally, something to blog about. Something down from the clouds and onto wet soggy earth. Of course I had a load of wash on the dock, the dishes overflowing and crawling with crumbs and ants in the sink, and there was the lawn, the lawn was so thirsty too- it told me so. And the camellias, those too. So as the 1st load was going, I put out the trashcans, chatted with the neighbor Pat and stretched out the hose, on my way to maybe wash dishes, and diverted to stretch the other hose to the camellias, I gave it a pull, it was stuck, came back to untwine it, and then tracked back and gave it a nice unfurling whip and stretch, and then, you know, that water exploding out of a small valve, whining, weezing, gurgling, pshhhhhhh, and shuddering pipe, water soaking the panes with a thwat thwat thwat and pwat pwat pwat sort of sound- and then it got a little quieter as the water level rose, and kept rising around the break, which I felt what a spectacle I can only wonder if anyone else saw. I rushed to turn off the red valve, and then the yellow valve, but no- it was below those. Soaked and dripping now.  I gingerly run into the house, slipped as I turned to grab the phone and sent it skittering across the kitchen floor along with myself as I was failing the turn off the water and problem solve this as fast as you can game. Mom didn't answer, dad, then suddenly mom answering and I ask, how do you turn off the water it's gushing, where, hold on let me, blah blah, here's your father, blah blah, no, gushing, below, yes, cover plate, near the street, get a wrench... I can't find the flashlight, where's the valve. I don't know. Wait, what do I do? mom in the background, we should just go over there.

And of course having lost the game I stood and pondered the water rocketing forth onto the lawn and creating a river at my feet, rushing past and under the grandmothers clock on the porch and down and out the driveway. I finally found the valve at the street level, and no it wouldn't budge. And then of course finally-- they came, and squishing across the lawn brought tools, my found torch, and absolutely drowned the rusted hinge with wd40- and then more problem solving with counter-levers, and dad grunting and mom fetching giant metal rods finally and 3 different types of wrenches, and we beat it, that sonofabitch. Language dear. Well after the river ran through it. But as with most things, I enjoy watching my parents work together and well. Even if my dad was in socks and my mom had some sad little blue light. They problem solved and pondered and that's them at their best. So despite the fact that I am now grungy, showerless, slack with thirst with no relief in sight, it was a pretty good night. I went on to play gearsofwar3, eat yogurt and watch sleepy hallow.

Sure the government is shut down, and my nails aren't in any kind of shape for a wedding, and I ate too many carbs, but I can say because of that I pretty much loved today. I can't remember what else there was but coffee with matt, and trader joes... and then the water burst forth. Dad said something like, well you broke it. As if my lateral tugging should've done it in and what was it doing being exposed and plastic to begin with anyway?! I'd like to believe I'd used the hose like a safety rope tied to myself and wrapped around the chimney while I was engaged in a daring cat rescue, but nevermind. Tomorrow is another day though. And I can say now I know how to turn off the water... hopefully it'll go a little bit easier than this time.... not sure about the gasline though... that's for the next earthquake.

xo, m.   

Thursday, September 26, 2013


I do love Ray Bradbury and was thee favorite of my youth. (Bruckner references his adoration in an actual blog!) There is something about him that is absolutely magic and he captured Fall so perfectly- in it's haunting transcendence, passage of time and of youth in such a way that still makes me look at the wind and a full moon with a measure of awe and mischief. He names mystery so well, the small things that become extraordinary. The big things that must be something. Must break out his short stories and read them for October.

I think on that note I can talk about the ocean. It was a gaping yawning absence. Each time I viewed it an ache in my chest appeared, stranded, wincing as the last hope of rescue disappears from the horizon. The hand reflexively soothes the constriction in the muscle. Your face draws in to frown but you think, they wouldn't have seen you anyway. You feel oddly condemned. The hand knowing the tensing pull of the neck goes there also and ministers to it, before it flings itself down and tells you there is nothing more to be done, but that the legs, they should do something. Maybe take you from this tragic spot. But your legs reluctant fold instead so that you can stare fixed on the blue slashed horizon with the posture of someone who still hopes, and waits.

At this point there must be something to do. Smoke. Eat. Talk. Sleep. Tan. Something to fill that longing absence. Text. Anything to not be alone. Its the same condition that strikes us and leaves coffee houses filled at dusk, that restless nervous feeling of things done, of things undone. It's at this point I feel we are all without fully knowing, longing for eternity and fearful of death. We can sense that tenuous pull of the horizon and we wonder. We feel displaced and I think in ourselves we lose confidence, a slight unmooring, and erosion of our self-reliant existence.

Now this is not always true. But I began to see the juxtaposition of my heart when it went to the mountains and felt anchored with glory and not absent from it, as the monoliths all stretched heavenward and my eyes and soul with them. It seemed an obvious place for rejoicing, and not of lost wanderings in the heart. And then just as often I went to the vistas of water pulling out and threading fast into the infinite, and I felt the bottom drop, caught up with knowing God was God but feeling very far from him, and resenting him for it.

So naturally I move to an island, as I've said before, where my body plays out what it has felt and known all along, akin to my playing out my spiritual landscape ala volcano tours of yore. Water water everywhere and none of it to drink. I'm sure it's akin to a spiritual desert and daring God to show up. And God not to be outdone in my unconscious movements responds that in the vast and the deep he resides also, but not just from afar. But close enough to be caught up in his touch. So that now, as I had met him everyday for months on the desolate and windy shores of jeju, silent and tired of talking, trusted that he would be there even if I had very little to say, I find myself reconciled to him and the ocean too.

I've been a handful of times and I'm looking for it. That reflexive ache. It's not there any longer. I move freely. I rejoice. I say hello God, here you are. I'm here also. I'm not sure why the change was important. Except the Father cares very much that I know he is close to me, so that the little girl in me can feel bounded up by his love in a way that simply has never been. I find this coming towards Home too. Not feeling alone here. Not feeling absence but presence- so that these things are not merely projections or prayers thrown off a cliff but an exchange of words to someone who is sitting next to you on the couch. I don't know.

But place is important is it not?

xo, m.

Dear Penelope,

Staring at my disjointed living room. Bored for the last 1/2 at least. Pondering decorating choices and if it will ever quite come together. There is a giant door that I can't move on my own now located to the left of the mantel. And I'm pondering an 'Adopt This Art' day, so I can get it out of the house. Who cares about it? I don't. Do any of you want any? Anyway. Also i'm thirsty but instead I had yogurt and fruit and now i'm overfull and i'm still thirsty. Story of my many days. And the trim, the trim and the closet aren't finished. Why does it take so long to paint a hallway. ?

Allright well it's another day. It's not looking good for some conflicts I told you about. One I think, because I'm reluctant to re-enter dysfunction without a conversation, and that conversation I don't think will ever happen. The 2nd, what can you do when the other person spends time holding a self-righteous position of "i'm not angry", "it's me, it's not you". That sermon about healing anger was spot on- we say to ourselves "I would never do that." So you sit in your high tower, don't confess how angry/hurt/livid you are and the other person walks around with that I'm being torched by your gaze but I can't quite put my finger on it sort of feeling.

I wanted to talk to you about the ocean, but it's being blocked by the 2 paragraphs above. So i'll just send this quick letter off with a promise for a longer one after.



Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Well how goes?

The hot weather came back and i'm fighting the inevitable flipflop farmer tan. The only place i'd put 70. because seriously that's the only place that needs it- perhaps the proximity to the baking asphalt. Me thinks. And all this out and aboutness. Oh touring LA.

Operation jejusarah visiting is going pretty well. It would be better if she were more opinionated on what to do because it's too easy if she doesn't care to not do anything at all- so why bother. Or rather force us to do things we could and should do for their LAness. Like museums with entrance fees or exhibits or soundofmusicsingalongs. We could be home playing gears of war or painting trim. And of course NO I haven't finished Yeasl's necklace. Rats. And no I don't have enough money for my bills this month- again. Will have to in next letter to relate what we did do- with perhaps a note about each.

We did have a 1/2 expected but not all day expected Law Day yesterday- which included tours of USC law and UCLA law- would not have thought but usc won due to its small village type feel. And though typically ucla had more of an abundance resource feel it still felt a little too systematic and large. We did sit through a Tort class at ucla which I found fascinating. Ultimately I find trying to interpret the language fun, like "detrimental reliance" (meaning when A party takes action for or toward B party and bad things happen to B as a result of A's action) and all the ways in which ficence is used in determining detrimental reliance - maleficence being the most popular but in tort class there is non-ficence, mis-ficence... and just ficence in general. So to litigation you can predict outcomes and similarities- surface/non-surface- and WHY but no one is pointing out that the idiot who tracked water in should be held libel for x person falling because he was being a thoughtless bastard but whether or not his relationship with the hotel and the situation obligates him...

Now I say fun, but like philosophy and psychology- you start boundaring your existence and your context using those words because we need to define things- and suddenly you find yourself in a very tight box. And you use that box like weapons, and its all how well you use those weapons to prove your argument and nothing whatever to do with truth- it is nice to know there are a myriad of things you can do with law and that THE GOOD is out there somewhere but while I had been feeling more like i'd made some fundamental mistake in my thinking, torts class brought it back to me- the guys who jack-knifed their trucks to avoid iceskidding over a cliff, who set flares but not in the right place, made a mistake but no, shouldn't be held responsible for the dude flying into them in his car. Or my favorite- P (plantiff) has come over to visit D (the defendant) and the cat is a titch aggressive. So P asks D to put the cat away. D ignores or does not comply- I think there was a stated promise though- and P is subsequently SCRATCHED. OH NO! So P assumes the cat must be rabid and goes to get a rabies shot- and SUES D for damages because they had a bad reaction. Nevermind that scratches are not typical transmitters of rabies but BITES are. Of course we're not arguing that. We're arguing what sort of ficence D should be held to. And if P made a reasonable attempt to help himself- he didn't call to get the cat impounded... blah blah. Bob Loblaw.

Anyway. Needless to say we didn't make it to the beach. We did however make it to happyhour sushi (philly rolls in my case) and tempura... SJT had some excellent spicy tuna rolls- may have a new fave and of course because lately I've been obsessed with mcds chocolate dipped cones but sjt wanted a change- we opted for chocolate dipped bananas. Good times.

We even watched Sleepy Hallow. Hmm. Is all I can say. Like almost possibly but then I don't know. Will try to get to God for Bruckner later. I will say both him and AA were asked after- like wait why couldn't they come? Why won't they come visit me? I mean props to my former boss for really making something awesome over the program- ipads, movie clips! photos! to access for tours... we did not however run into anyone from glee or drphil. and there's an actual relationship btw the pages and HR. and hiring. whaaat. Anyway- oh right ProRun--- well. I mean.. seriously. Kate should've won. And can we get rid of Ken already? I forget what the last one was about now-- but well anyway.

I have to go- we're going to persevere despite utter reluctance and irritability.


Saturday, September 14, 2013

so i did something weird with my gmail

Let me preface this by saying - I archive almost all of my nonjunk email, like letters and pictures from family, friends, even the little bits and pieces of conversation, just because and just in case. But as far as the actual inbox is concerned, ideally it is kept neat and clean. Then when the little smartphone arrived on the scene last year, and as the computer because more and more decrepit (I'm cursing it for its incompetence as we speak), I fell behind in my archiving. Like, way behind, to the point of I Give Up behind. There were over 1,000 non-archived emails weighing down my inbox and my shoulders when finally, the other day, I found a solution via google to bulk archive through a simple filter. At first it didn't work, but then I switched something and it did work! In a matter of seconds, poof! Emails archived, chaotic unarchived weight from shoulders lifted.

But then, today it occurred to me - why it took 2 or 3 days to dawn on me, I do not know - that no longer were any new emails coming through. No "I'm back in the country, how are you?" emails from mom, no prodding,"hey, what are you doing, tell me MORE!" messages from mendacious. No articles from my coworker I said I'd edit and she said she'd send? Hmm. Except, oops, they were there, just not in my inbox. Automatically archived. So, wtf? I don't even know how to fix that, and do admit to feeling slightly panicked all over again at undealt-with email.

Ugh, my brain! Isn't there a way to archive my peskier thoughts. (Without fubar-ing that, too.)

So teaching is really quite lovely, so far. Still so much to incorporate and learn, to-do lists everywhere, but also the feeling that - we're off to a good start, and introducing new things in as the year goes on is the right way to do it, anyway, for us all. Thursday, I had a thought that perhaps 2 out of the 3 were already a little too comfortable with us, the teaching team, because all of a sudden they were block-crushing little monsters who would not be stopped. But it was also Thursday, i.e. our Friday. And then there's the problem of the afterschool crew, whom I stayed with Thursday, but not Wednesday, after my coworker and I convo'd and decided having 2 people stay for 1-2 children was not only pointless, but also possibly illegal, pay-wise. I had 3 kids on Thurs, which brought me up over minimum wage (holla), and also, I earned every penny with the wild monkeys under my care. Sheesh.

Outside school, I daily fend off a connected series of muscle aches and panicky-type waves, so I can only assume by now all of the monster is stress-borne. My upper spine is like a barometer for mental duress.

But then, I ponder the force field of calm I carry with me in situations where others are calling for it. Like the children in my care, or the parents dropping them off, or the old dog in pain, or the child upset about xyz at school today. Not always, but often, I can carry this shield for others, but not myself, like some kind of gift (but also a curse, since I am apparently unable to partake in it).

Well so, J.Lo's off to a tiny northern state this week for a conference, so I'll be here, holding down the fort. Watching normally booed and hissed shows on the large TV instead of the tiny tablet or phone, making pasta di fagioli and eating the leftovers everysinglenight if I want to. Facing down Full Week 2 of school, managing the puppies and the children. And generally trying not to lose my shit! (Exclamation point absolutely required.)

love to you xo,
your penelaotang

Saturday, September 7, 2013

As I sit here pretending to smoke this mini-golf pencil,

my gums aching, nothing much on tv, and nothing I want to look at on the internet. It's like returning to my inbox to see if anyone has sent an email and no one has. Like waiting for money to drop from the sky or pondering earthquake weather.

Sipping rooibos iced tea as param snakes past me and hops out the broken screen door. Seems a shame to fix it. Wondering about having dreadlocks, knowing I could pull it off but would I want to. There are things still to do on the list- short term- curtain rods, trim, closet, and why are my gums aching anyway.


Something so earnest about a question mark.

I was going to talk about some of the church conflict stuff. So much there about truth and love and how our heart disorders them- but I think i'd rather go to bed. It's crazy. I mean I've had coffee even. I guess potting that one plant totally exhausted me. It came out of nowhere as I was watering- it just suddenly was impossible to ignore- and earlier I did become crazed and start ripping weeds and dead sunflower stalks out of the ground and into a giant untidy heap on the lawn.

So sleep. Sleep's ok for now right? After some portlandia and turning off the sprinkler.


Friday, September 6, 2013

Dear AA,

I think you're missing my um, broader point about narrative threads and real life- but I totally get you, yes. How do we invest- what are we spending our time on, and for how long. ?

Just now I spent 905 pages of time on a book I mostly loathed. Now I didn't chuck it across the room like I did with 1984 and handmaids tale (canNOT stand post-apocalyptic narratives of facist govt takeovers) but I think i'll probably throw it into the giveaway pile, even if the supercutenewsherlockholmes is playing him in the hbo miniseries. I can only hope they make it better. But the book it was callus, and fragmented narratively, and the characters- not really at all likeable? Somewhat appealing but inaccessible. For instance the main character is referred to as a "meal-sack" throughout and his meaty sausage like hands with his mouth agape. The whole thing agitates me.

Also it was 93 in the house today. i'm acclimating in that I can actually put my hair down. So there is something to not having a/c and letting your body adapt, after ive soaked my feet in cold water and drank 2 cups of iced water. The book, finished with a seriously unsatisfying end. It was gripping in a way, as life just carried on in crisis and the shifts were small but they were happening- but ultimately I wanted to care about the characters and I don't know if I did... hmm we'll see if it becomes forgettable or in a way memorable in how irritating it was- some books don't deserve it but I suppose it's working if your reacting. even if it's a bad reaction. and to think I read this book while playing hardcore on gears of war - I laughed when I set the mode on casual and played it again- how easy it all was... i didn't die over and over and over and actually say to myself, is this game going to beat you? are you giving up? or are you going to learn how to do this BIT better. now i'm super efficient at the torque bow with an xbox controller... but i digress. what's your game mode setting?

Some gamemode settings are on insane and how many of us can really go there? Sometimes, I have glimpses in myself of such courage. I'm acting it out now financially. But in the gameworld I only do that when i'm bored with the maps and the AI enemies- not aggressive enough, die too easily... yawn. Korea was insane mode in some ways too. Other ways pretty casual to normal, as life has to be at times. It's like yah, ok, what ELSE. But i had to start at casual. And then i became bold and went hardcore and now i'm used to that there's no going back to "normal".

And being away a year has given me crazy perspectives on friendships- the ones that have experienced hostile takeovers, long dormant resentments, and my need to be patient about a lot of things and that terminal list- the list itself I indite myself over- blasted projects- never ending. Today my dad came over with Hamlet- love that- to measure cabinets- so that might actually happen? Kitchen renovation. Kind of shocked. My dad did say to my mom that the living room looks like a vampire den. As I said to Pen I can only hold back my gothic and as danica suggested bohemian instincts for so long- and then I'm just seduced by the names too- medieval forest, chianti, black orchid... interestingly one of chi-cathy's favorite words is corridor. Which I love, and will try to work into the map i'm painting in the hallway (polarbear white!) and as that movie with the rabbit suggests, another beautiful word like cellar door... Autumn, today, had never heard of the word roiling. It was used in the context of church of course- it feels roiling. The battle. The tumult. The turbid waters.

Good stuff.

But life- we should try to live it on hardcore mode more often than not I think. Since safety in any sense is mostly wholly fabricated and not actual. Of course I'm biased since I spent a year meditating on what it was to be safe. Literally most everyday calling the word to mind and holding it there with God. So naturally that is my answer to everything- what are you doing? Oh, you don't feel safe. Right that's it. Little M, Little Pen, Little AA- is God holding you safe in his arms?

Besides that lately I am examining God the Father and His love for me. And know my next task is to examine my utter detachment from seeking success or a future or something? Like by gradschool maybe i got a little too esoteric with my whole "it's an end in itself" rhetoric- like maybe i shouldn't have let everyone off the hook so easily- maybe that was me trying to put something insane into a casual setting and confusing what was at stake- i mean i had the right strategy but the execution i think was off... anyway i'm pondering that.

So jejusarah is coming on Monday and I'll have gone to church, and watered my pre-school teachers yard. She's 86. And then it's off to Paramount and who knows what else. Will try not to freak out about how i can't afford gas.

Ok this laptop is raising my coretemperature to critical. I need more icedwater stat.

xo, m.


Wednesday, September 4, 2013


It's down to 89 in the house and I'm stabbing at the 2nd frozen block of coffee willing it to melt faster. It's only a matter of time, given the temp, as I watch JeffGo/db/um become a doily salesmen on P0rtlandia. In the 2nd season didn't he play a knot salesmen? I'm not sure.

It reached 101 in shade today. I ate like 4 nectarines and frozen yogurt and one of those chocolate dips from mcds. I bought a giant bag of ice, too. And played gears of war and painted the closet and hallway all day. I thought I couldn't go on but I rallied to finish the 2nd coat on the closet. And feel I did a good days work with the looming jejusarah visit.

You raise an interesting question about narrative threads. A favorite topic of mine, as we are a month shy of our 9 year blog-iversary. (I just finished the coffee. It was amazing. My tongue is numb.) Ok so right threads- I want to hear more. Based on what you've said it occurs to me it all depends on how you read a book in the first place. I remember with horror contemplating your? and my moms, skip to the end to see how it works out before you invest. But then equally your refusal to tell me what happened in a certain book series. I tend to like to know as little as possible going on beforehand, but for certain things to know the arch of a movie or book I wont read doesn't bother me. Oh and what sort of book are we talking? Ulysses? Something by Thomas Pynchon? Or more lately and boringly by Ford Madox Ford, or Proust or I don't know- c.s. lewis? Sometimes I do rightly think i'm in Narnia. And those are the best days. The world isn't as concrete as we sometimes make it out to be. And on the worst days i'm trapped in a descriptive paragraph that wont end for the semi-colons, or worse I've stumbled into into The sound and fury and my head explodes in confusion because i'm not used to fragmented narrative yet. Remember when books actually caused your synapses to misfire do to the narrative construction?

But we're talking about real life... right right. A complicated interweb. I think each season does have distinct beginnings and ends and ok some take longer than others but I think they do and can be resolved. It builds, as frustrating as the waiting is, a sense of expectation... I suppose we have to look at what in our lives has been resolved. What's taken turns and twists. But then I'm talking to your sub-text. And that's not clear in what you expect and what you're staring at. Death is the finisher of all threads is It not? Ha knot. Anyway. Oh not that your sub-text is death. You did mention joy and patience. I think there's a lot of things we can cultivate through discipline, and routine but I think only so much can be done unless God increases our natural capacities. Otherwise it's just work right? Ugh. Who wants it. I asked God to be my work boss a few days ago and then was immediately sending complaints about the tasks and it came down to me asking Him to give me the strength to do it then, and he happily obliges most days when I remember to actually ask and not just sit mired. But then conversely so much is gained in laboring through things. It's hard in this heat.


Based on a word from autumn when I first got back - I wrote on my mirror 1. worship 2. be responsible. And I find not much is done but berating myself for crimes against productivity if I start with 2. I see my list like violations mounting a case against me and setting me for failure at the outset. And I sit in judgment of myself and so accomplish nothing. But if I literally put on worship music, sing or hum some tunes over breakfast or just put it playing on in the room that needs to be conquered my mind is overcome and I am suddenly kinetic in a way that sheer will won't accomplish. I think it reorients the focus. In a way that literally makes all things possible. I want to remember this. It has made all the difference since I've been back. We can't hold onto this all the time, but perhaps it's like a morning offering to face the day/maybe not the day- but the maker of the day- and keep the rest for peripheral vision.

I think back to being radically healed from the church and I thought like you about this narrative thread that it would never be resolved. I was miserable in community. I showed up, not knowing what else to do, not realizing that was the thing itself- to just be there- and that God was working in a way I couldn't perceive, so that one day as someone prayed for me I felt it break over me and it was literally done. God has those sorts of things in store for all of us if we pursue him and his promises for us- I think? and for YOU. sometimes we so closely associate our identities with our wounds that we can't tell the difference. Or we think somehow the wound is us. And it isn't. The hurts, the deep places. Those can be renovated. They can be like this one spiritual one for me broken open and excised. So I suppose that's what I ultimately mean about expectation- some I suppose not ever resolved on this side of Armageddon but then, a lot will be and can be in the interim. Which to bring it back- how amazing freedom in Christ really is. And all those debates worthwhile over MM. It is a choice. It is never done without community, but it's something so worthwhile once you walk into it. Shame doesn't have to be a part of everyday life. Shouldn't be.

Well anyway list making for tomorrow and handing it over to God- a new thought pattern- here have this- this is what I need, this is what worries me, and then ok, i'm going to get to work. (obviously with lots of cold things breaks- this weather shows no signs of letting)



holla holla hey

Good morning from the east coast,
I have been burrowed into the world of newjob and settinguptheclassroom for days now (weeks?), but I feel like emergence is coming soon. More or less. There are still things, still lists, but not quite so harrowing in their must-get-it-done-immediately!ness. I'll have to develop a repertoire of kitten-herding skills, for instance, that can only be honed through practice, trial and error. I must compile a stack of music-to-play that mostly veers away from kids-singing-kids-music because that seems a quick road to mental snapping. Oh, and lesson plans. Must corral the bits and pieces of I-think-I-want-do-this and I-vaguely-envision-that and tighten it all up.

But it'll happen.

I had a thought about stories the other day that perhaps you'd enjoy. And probably this is a human thing, not just a penelope thing, but maybe it falls into the Venn diagram middle-space of personal and universal experience. I love stories. Have always loved them. But do I/we love stories to the point of fault? In terms of narrative thread, we almost set ourselves up, through that love of stories, to expect an endpoint to all our narrative threads. And I know, how obvious - life, while made up of our stories, is not a storybook or even a series of them. Our narrative threads are much messier, frayed, knotted and twisty-turny. Which is part of their beauty, but also, should we not be continually mindful, a good way to set ourselves up for that constant sense of disappointment and frustration when our stories fail to end and end neatly. For instance, say I'm working on patience, or cultivating a sense of joy. (Of course I would pick something abstract, but any goal-or-problem-type *thing* could be substituted in.) And I, through whatever means, land on some sort of mental secret or key to attaining said goal or solving said problem. And my mind tries to squeeze it all  into a story paradigm, wherein I had that moment of recognition or realization or epiphany, and from that day forward, that particular goal was achieved or problem was solved. I guess that would be the old living happily ever after trap, even if one doesn't actually expect it to be so pretty or pat or whatever. It could be more disheveled, this journey and conclusion, but I think our minds still want to squeeze into a storyline wherein we no longer have to worry about this particular thing.

Except that never happens.

I have to cut myself off - ohmygosh, ironically? - and return to blogland later. Today is Open House part two, for the littlest classroom (not mine, but my presence is still required) and then some errand running that most unfortunately includes procuring 5 tons of mulch. And then, I hope, some canned salsa making. And oh, preparing for the first day of school tomorrow.

Love to YOU who must write me back now,