Tuesday, September 12, 2006

One Nation, Invisible 

In yesterday's entry, I suggested that my new crop of students have not yet felt national pain. But thinking about it afterwards, I realized that many of them don't even feel national anything.

I mean, every morning, first thing, we stand and turn, our hands over our hearts, and mumble our way through the pledge of allegiance. The principal says "please remain standing for a moment of silence," which lasts, like, seven seconds, since they are, after all middle school students. The kids fidget. I take a deep breath and try not to say "shhh".

And then they sit, and Mr. Hale goes on to read the mundane nuts and bolts of a morning's announcements, and the moment is shattered without ever really coming together in the first place.

So this morning, I wrote the pledge on the board before they came in.

And then, for the fifteen minutes we have between announcements and the rest of their school day, we parsed it.

And talked about symbols, and nations, and what it really means to pledge your allegiance to both.

And talked about a republic, and what it is, and how it cannot work without each of us taking the mantle of it upon ourselves.

And talked about how indivisible is in some ways the opposite of invisible -- that it requires a pledge, and a daily reminder.

And talked about liberty, and justice, and the values we commit ourselves to defending each day.

And mentioned silence, and how we might need that moment, some days, to square ourselves with the daily reality of socialpush and gradegrub.

And for once they were quiet, and asked questions, and wished they could stay longer at the bell.

Not bad for fifteen minutes.

Sure, maybe we'll learn to live with the way we are unified and then dropped again so quickly every day, the way the disembodied speaker voice moves us from the sacred to the profane in ten seconds flat. Maybe they'll forget, and fidget, more often than not. And maybe that's okay, for a bunch of twelve year olds.

But maybe, just maybe, tomorrow and this week and every once in a while from now on, they'll move through the day from there with a little more purpose.

And maybe, just maybe, they'll feel connected to the world of school and social structure just one tiny bit more deeply when they walk out of my classroom door, on their way to math or social studies. And, heck, maybe it'll even make them better humans, and more civic-minded.

It's nothing political, our nation's pledge. It doesn't say you have to stand by your president, or his policies. It doesn't say you have to vote one way or another, or that you can't protest.

But it is a serious thing, I think -- a real commitment, to take on the responsibility of citizenship in whatever way you see fit. And further, it is a great and awesome thing, to commit to seeing everyone else who stands under that banner and takes that pledge as inseparable from you, regardless of how they might feel about the government, or the people, or the land...and regardless of whether you agree with them.

It is what makes us us -- one classroom, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. And I love that, and so, though surely it is insane to confess it, I love the whole crazy idea of pledging to it every day.

(And if teaching isn't about love, then what the hell am I doing in a stuffy classroom all day, anyway?)

posted by boyhowdy | 9:06 PM | 6 comments

Monday, September 11, 2006

(Still) Mourning In America 

Five years ago today I ran the media center at a private boarding school. When the kids started streaming in, I turned the theater projector to CNN, and we watched together as the world crumbled around us. It took an hour before I could bring myself to turn off the cycle, speak softly about the difference between news and spectacle, and send them back to their counselors and dorm parents, and I still wish I had thought of it sooner.

Five years ago today my friend and co-worker Chris Carstanjen took a flight to California to visit a mutual friend. It wasn't until three days later that I learned I had spent the morning watching his plane smash into the World Trade Center, over and over and over again.

Five years ago I had no children of my own. Somewhere in the months that followed, we conceived our first child, and though we had been trying for years by then, I'll never know if creating life then and there was, at least in some tiny way, part of our healing process.

Today at school the intercom crackled at 8:46, and I stood before a group of kids and bowed my head in a moment of silence. I wanted to think about Chris, and I did. I wanted to think about my own children, safe in the car with their Mama on the way to Willow's first day of preKindergarten, and give thanks for thier innocence and grace, and I did.

But mostly, I thought about how my students were seven year old suburbanites on 9/11, and how little they really understand pain.

Five years ago today I lived in another world, like the rest of us. Then the world changed, and we're still picking up the pieces.

Thank God for a new generation. May they never know the horror firsthand.

posted by boyhowdy | 7:50 PM | 1 comments

Saturday, September 09, 2006

Teaching The Cut-And-Paste Generation 

No blog yesterday, as I was all blogged out from writing up an entry over at the workblog, newly resurrected for the new school year.

This week's topic, straight on the tail of a week of teacher complaints of kids parroting (or even printing) instead of just writing the sentence or two required for homework: strategies for addressing (and preempting) plagiarism, a much bigger deal in the cut-and-paste generation, and much harder for the wee ones to understand given an early lifetime of increasingly fuzzy intellectual property habits brought on by the wonderful world of technology.

Irony, of course, is that as long as we want Generation Net to learn that understanding must necessarily come before pastiche, the best strategies involve disallowing high-tech over-reliance, and requiring handwriting-to-type as a general rule when going from first draft to last. Too, as long as we're going to be making them handwrite their standardized tests, it doesn't hurt to make 'em practice, lest their hands cramp up when they're trying to beat the system. More here.

posted by boyhowdy | 10:37 PM | 1 comments

Thursday, September 07, 2006

No Entry, Really 

Not sure why I started this entry, really -- I've got the once-familiar buzz, but the skills are rusty, and the content just isn't there.

It's not that life is uneventful, far from it. Work is full, rich, fulfilling, my kind of whirlwind. The kids grow in leaps and bounds, each doubling her talents by the day. Their mama and I make halfplans for next summer's deck, perhaps a sunporch, traced narrow up to the very legal variance line for building. We spent the afternoon behind the house, eyeballing a new clearing for a playhouse and swingset where currently stand wood, a decade or more of dead leaves soft and giving like brown bog under our feet.

What happenms is reportable, I suppose. But there is no structure in it, and little joy to merely retell. Where once this need came complete with phrase and meter, in three-paragraph form unbidden, as if a gift from some internal gods, today the need comes unaccompanied by topic or tone.

I sit here and write the urge to blog, as if the mere act of writing would make meaning out of words. Once, it would. But today nothing comes, only the dark, the restlessness, the empty sounds of a house asleep faint behind the quiet music.

posted by boyhowdy | 9:22 PM | 2 comments

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Wednesday Wandering, In Doggerel 

Two weeks into the schoolyear and it's already a ride.
I rise in darkness every day to help minds open wide.
When day is done, and I come home, my children pout and hide.

Mornings in the mirror I can see the fading tan
still stark against my pale white skin from living in the land.
Today at work I gave the eight grade teachers our tech plan.

Once we were two, and wandered much, with hardly any care.
We'd hit the back roads on a whim, wind whipping through our hair
It seems a million million miles since we were living there.

And so the days grow longer as September passes by.
The wood is stacked along the trees where we can watch it dry.
At night I sit upon the porch and look up at the sky.

posted by boyhowdy | 8:21 PM | 0 comments

Monday, September 04, 2006

Harvest Wanders 

Used to be we could take off on a dime, and we did -- I have fond memories of college weekend drives in upstate New York, my future wife at my side, odometer-watching to determine which way to go at each intersection. True wandering is tougher with the kids, but how else to share with them the wandering spirit that to take off and go?

Which is to say, yesterday, we took off and went. The rain came slow but steady all weekend, but my allergies took a turn for the worse in the mold-and-pollen, so we decided to take a page from our wedding vows and head out without a map, looking for the spirit of adventure.

Five stars for the best orchard in the middle of nowhere!20 miles due east just above the Connecticut border a happy accident of meandering and sign-following found us at Charlton Orchards and Winery, where an amish-looking farmer ran his very own farmstand in the steady drizzle, and his wife hosted wine-tasting in the farmhouse next door.

I cannot recommend a better farm-going experience, especially with the kids. We got crisp cortlands, sniffed fresh pies, tasted an octet of delicious award-winning fruit wines; the kids loved the bunnies and ducks, and fed them grain from their hands in the quickening rain.

We've chosen woods over fields, I suppose, landing a long cry from the school-based farmstead we once called home. Always nice, though, to find those out of the way spaces that remind us to stay close to land, and how sweet it is to do so.

We'll be back at Charlton Orchards September 24th for their harvest celebration: bluegrass, barbecue, and this year's cider to celebrate what is sure to be yet another big win at the Big E Eastern States Exposition. Pick your own pears, apples, and blueberries, if they're still in season. Hope to see you there.

posted by boyhowdy | 11:22 AM | 0 comments

Friday, September 01, 2006

I Need A Hurricane 

Chat with the wife and kids from work this afternoon during my free period. Willow reports she'll be taking Yoga as of next Thursday, and my first thought is jealousy -- not that I want to take Yoga, really, just the thought that she'll suddenly be doing something I can neither share nor talk about.

Sure, she's not me, and her knowledge is her own. She's collected trivia out of my presence, knows books from library story hours I never saw, taught me songs from school. Interesting, nonetheless, to think that this will be the first fullly unique skill that she'll be picking up. Makes her seem more real, somehow, and more separate.

At supper we brainstormed things Daddy could do that Mama cannot, and other than a few primarily violent summercamp skills (archery and riflery among them), we came up pretty empty. Good thing she loves me, I guess. It would take days to list the things my wife can do, and does, lest they go totally undone, though not through lack of trying.

In other news, the weather says:
I sped home today, skipping what promises to be the first of many afterwork "taco" sessions to stack the last of the wood, cover it with blue tarp and bungee in preparation for the gale-force wind and rain. Looking forward to a few days home with the family, watching the rain, sharing our days again after a long week mostly absent.

Bonus points, as always, to anyone who can identify the seriously obscure musical source of today's blogtitle.

posted by boyhowdy | 7:35 PM | 0 comments

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

New Beginnings, Ragged Ends 

Another year, another crop of kids. The seventh graders are overwhelmed by homeroom's end; the eight graders turned surly and distracted, all-over adolescent overnight. At the close of the hour-long, rules-laden assembly at start of day, some kid wants to know if hugging is okay. I think he's serious. Happily, it seems to be acceptable, as long as the feeling is mutual.

Work is exhausting, but my new schedule leaves me clean half-days "free" to work with teachers and other classes in the lab, a big improvement over last year's sporadic and hard-to-schedule on-off hodgepodge. The new principal is sincere, eager, easy to work with. I begin to expect big things.

Back home the elderkid pulls a Delilah on herself, chopping a jagged hairline from brow to ear with her project scissors when her mother's back is turned. I try to be disapproving, but, honestly, she's worse the the eight graders.

posted by boyhowdy | 8:19 PM | 1 comments

Monday, August 28, 2006

A Tale of Two Children 

Cassia couldn't sleep, so I took her outside in the damp night to listen to the bugs buzz, the peepers peep. Her year-and-a-half eyes glowed wide with wonder as walked down the driveway, the pitch black before us, the garagelight fading behind us. Afterwards, she gave me a snuggle and said my daddy clear as a bell before asking for Mama, and bed.

Meanwhile, Willow had a hissy fit out at the stream this afternoon, so we cut the fishing short and fumed back through the woods together, though if she were old enough to make her own way back, she would have. She pulls at her sister, and natters loudly if we try to talk to anyone else in her presence. Tonight, on the phone with my mother, of all the wondeful things we did this weekend, she chose to share did you know that we were pulled over by a policeman in the car?

Once, the wee one was practically prehuman, cute but essentially object. Once, the elderkid was sweet, generous, gracious and gentle by default. I suppose they'll forever see-saw, too, on their own wobbly curves, sometimes in sync at high or low, sometimes like today, just a study in opposites.

Ah, who am I kidding. I love 'em, God bless 'em. Even if their reaction to my daytime absence were to remain forever diverse and unpredictable, I miss them terribly when I'm working. So long, summer vacation. Hello again, teacher's life.

posted by boyhowdy | 10:52 PM | 0 comments

Sunday, August 27, 2006

Glad, Glad, Glad 

Malcolm Gladwell has the ability to make me interested in anything. This week, it’s the dependency ratio, a vital economic conceit in which the ratio of non-workers to workers in any pension system turns out to be amazingly powerful predictive factor for long-term systemic potential -- including impending corporate doom -- to a factor of about 40 years out.

I know, it’s the kind of article you skip over first time around, and read later because there’s nothing else around to read. But it was, honestly, fascinating, and I wish you'd stop reading this blog and go read it right now. Gladwell's blog-based follow-up helps us chew the gristle a bit, too.

I’m glad there’s a Gladwell. It gives us someone to aspire to, without the threat of jealousy.

posted by boyhowdy | 9:59 PM | 0 comments

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Tiny Voices 

The wee one's language develops exponentially these days. She's not yet threading words together, but the world is full of nouns and desires, from new potty to her favorite internet video, inflected appropriately as request or demand in her babyhigh soprano.

Meanwhile, elderkid's voice is all over the place. In the background, sometimes, I hear her singing to herself, playing with the sound of words until they lose their meaning, and usually to the tune of something Disney.

It's time to notice these things, I think; all too soon I will be gone more than here again. Monday's professional development day, Tuesday's classroom set-up and faculty meeting are the flesh hitting the water. The kids arrive Wednesday, bright from the August sun. Under the surface, a faculty still reticent to change lurks like a swordfish.

Inside my head, the buzz of workyear begins. Tasks whirl around each other in my brain, naming themselves out loud, making a whirlwind of my once-summerquiet head. Distant at first, by Wednesday it will be a full-blown constancy, nagging and loud and eternal, blurring my vision and keeping me from fullness with the ones I love, at least until another summer.

posted by boyhowdy | 12:20 PM | 0 comments

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Blogging For The Sake Of Blogging 

Sunset over Westview Farm, Monson, MAWent into school today, to check in and meet with the new principal for a bit. Bumped into a few familiar faces, but mostly the place is empty and seemingly untouched since the Spring. Didn't seem like work has started as just one of the things I had to do today.

Other things I had to do today: buy milk, watch the baby develop OCD (Messy! Wipe?), stack a good row of freshly delivered cordwood. How good to do an honest day's labor, use a little muscle, a little brain. Thanks to the Internet for some informative info re: proper stacking technique, which you'd think would be pretty obvious, but I suppose it doesn't hurt to be sure.

There are baby cows at the local farm-slash-creamery up the hill, and the sunsets are beautiful over the fields. Willow and I went fishing for an hour before supper yesterday with nary a nibble, except for the mosquitoes, which are pretty bad the time of year. Summer winds down, and not with a bang, either. But the days are good, if generally uneventful.

posted by boyhowdy | 8:32 PM | 0 comments

Tuesday, August 22, 2006


I've spent 24 hours turning up mold in every corner of the basement: under rugs, behind the fridge, hanging from the strings which once held preschool paste projects. From a room where our predecessors had their pool table, I personally removed over hundred stacked, half-brokendown boxes swarmed with the stuff.

The sour stuff even seeped into the once-clean clothes stacked neatly on the futon at the base of the stairs. I saved what little I could, and have now turned to running prefolded stacks through the wash.

Not sure how I'll manage to save the futon mattress, though. Or the hardwood sideboard and matching chairs, fuzzy with green hair. Or the boxes of stuffed animals and playroom toys, all organized by type and developmental stage, each waiting for the little one to grow a few months more. Or my sinuses, damnit.

Am starting to suspect, in fact, that the entire basement is just plain unsalvageable. Certainly, I can't go down there any more. Not now, with the worst of it exposed to the stirred-up air.

But it's here I'm more worried about. The door to downstairs sports a few green spots by the base. Floorvents leak poison as I struggle to clean the rest of the place before the kids come home tomorrow with their mother. The very air is toxic. I've just sneezed all over the keyboard, in fact.

I'm out of here for a haircut, with windows open to the sun. Here's hoping the world looks a little brighter when I return. Or at least less humid, and a whole lot less sour smelling.

posted by boyhowdy | 2:14 PM | 1 comments

Monday, August 21, 2006

Cleaning House 

If you haven't heard from me for a few days, it's because I've been cleaning the dumping spaces. Yesterday it was the garage, where the walls have crept in on our carfootage until we could not pass with doors open. This morning I start on the basement, where a green mold patina blossoms on every leather surface, and a hundred empty boxes remind us that we never really finished moving in.

If all goes well, I might have time to clear the brushpiles from along the driveway tomorrow afternoon between a much-needed haircut and supper with Dad. Such possibility grows distant, however, as time goes on, and the mold begins to affect my sinuses.

Everyone understands the idea of Spring cleaning; airing out the nooks and crannies after a winter cooped up in the house is intuitive. But we're messy people, Darcie and I, and the kids seem to have inherited our trait. We've spent a year tidying, mostly for company, mostly in a rush, and it's these semi-private dumping grounds -- the basement, the garage, even the wood's edges -- which have sufered from our eternal struggle to keep the place cosmetic.

Too, what with the school year starting up again next Monday, time is running out for such projects. Soon my days will be filled with children, and my evenings full of family. Soon, full days will be too precious, and the air too cold, to do other than hunker down, and be close to my kids after long weeks of work and early rising, and fill the house with winter's nest.

Thus, Fall cleaning. Unrealistic as it is, I remain ever hopeful that the spaces I sweep and unclutter today will remain so. More probably, we've made enough room for another year's accumulation. Until the Fall comes twice, then: may these places become rooms, that we might fill them with our love.

posted by boyhowdy | 11:22 AM | 0 comments

Saturday, August 19, 2006

Ten Years...So Far 

She wore her wedding whites, put her hair up like she used to. So beautiful, and glowing with the magic of that simple dress, the bright blue scarf above it. I wore a tie, in case anyone cares.

We left the kids with her parents, drove downtown, parked in the lot in the center of Brattleboro. There were naked people in the parking lot, just standing around. Everyone looked, but nobody said anything.

I took her out to Peter Havens, the fanciest place downtown, one of those reservation-only joints where the menu in the window doesn't list the prices. From our seats by the wall we could see a slice of Haystack mountain over the old brick facades and across the Connecticut River. We were easily the youngest people in the place, strangers in a community we once knew and loved, eating pheasant pate and escargot, venison and cherry-roasted duck in a sea of surrealist paintings. It was, to tell the truth, kind of romantic.

On the way home it was twilight. We stopped by the church where we were married, walked the garden, in the darkening light turned suddenly adolescent. She tugged my ring, I took her hand; bats fluttered in my stomach, in the trees, everywhere. And somewhere in the awkward dark we declared ourselves another ten years, and kissed, and held each other over an endless bridge of time; and went back home to our family, ready for the infinite future.

And I’d do it again in a heartbeat. All of it. Thanks, Darcie, for a wonderful ten years. Here's to a hundred more, one day at a time.

posted by boyhowdy | 4:38 PM | 1 comments

Thursday, August 17, 2006


Been stretching the end of summer a bit by tending to the yard -- mostly mowing and treeclearing, with a designer's eye towards an eventual deck. Started in on the garage this afternoon. Hey, I know it's not exciting, but it's what's going on.

Plan is to head up north to Brattleboro tomorrow, have a nice tenth anniversary supper at a quaint Vermont inn, and then leave the spouse and kids with her parents while I jet back home for a few days to finish what I've started.

I guess the theory here is that a clean house makes for a clean head. There's something deeply satisfying about making order of your own environment, and with your hands.

How odd to think that ten years ago tonight we were nightswimming, a country mikvah up at the lake. It was pitchblack, and cold, I remember. We would have gone all the way, too, if it weren't for that huge splash down the shore. Well, it could have been a bear.

Last call on those Random Rules mp3s, by the way. I've already posted the bluegrass instrumental Phish cover as requested; if you want one of the others, just ask and ye shall receive.

posted by boyhowdy | 11:58 PM | 0 comments

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Internal Monologue 

Oh, look, Pottery Barn has halloween costumes. In August. They look comfortable, but I bet they're expensive...yup. Like I'm going to spend $99 for a ladybug outfit elderkid will wear for two hours. Oh, wait, that fairy outfit looks really cute...

And that's how I used to end up spending money we don't have on cute things for the kids. Hoorah for the Internet, where I know I don't have to act now, because, really, it'll still be there when I come to my senses and realize that Darcie always makes our costumes, and loves doing it.

Not sure how I ended up on the Pottery Barn mailing list, but I get email from them a couple of times a week, usually sandwiched between Planned Parenthood updates and those damn spam stocktips. This was the first one I actually read, mind you.

posted by boyhowdy | 9:08 PM | 2 comments

Random Rules
The Home Edition
Now with mp3 goodness!

Just 'cause we're not indiefamous like the usual schmucks over at the AV Club doesn't mean we can't speak inanely to our own random pod-play. Twelve oughta do it -- as an added incentive, I'll post up to five four more of the below as mp3s upon request (thanks for making the first request, hypercycloid!).

U2, Negativland

Oh, this is hilarious – some guy sent some outtakes of Casey Kasem swearing to the Negativland guys, and they mashed 'em up with that U2 song Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For. My brother had this on vinyl when we were kids; it was really rare, because U2 sued them and they had to pull the album from stores.

I Fell In Love, Susan Tedeschi

I saw Susan Tedeschi in concert a couple of years ago, tenth row with my parents at the Calvin in Northampton. Amazing. Best blues guitarist since Bonnie Raitt. One of the best electric blues guitarists in the business, in fact. This song’s a bit standard honky tonk for me, but the riffs are great.

Left click to go download Fast Enough For You, Gone Phishin’

This is a bunch of unnamed bluegrass musicians covering Phish; I got a whole album of this stuff on here, some more bluegrass covers, a couple dozen string quartet covers. I love covers – like, half the songs on my iPod are covers of something. With the guitar instrumental in place of the lyrics this one’s really mellow, a perfect summer afternoon of a song.

Mama, You’ve Been On My Mind, Peter Mulvey

Mulvey’s one half of Redbird, so I’ve seen him a couple of times, but only with Jeffrey Foucault and Kris Delmhosrt. The raspy basso needs to grow on you for a while, but it’s worth it. He recorded this album (Ten Thousand Mornings) in a T stop on the Red Line in Boston; some songs, you can hear the trains come in.

Virginia Wolfe, Indigo Girls

I was so into the Indigo Girls when their first few albums came out. This song is kind of catchy, an anthem, not their best but a good sample, I guess. Biggest lesson here is, if you want to flesh out your vocal sound to something quirky, almost angelic, use the Roches for your backup singers – they don’t come in until 3 minutes in, but it’s worth the wait.

Wolfman’s Brother, Phish

Ah, there’s the stuff. One of their best jams, hornful and radio-ready at 4 minutes, all the silliness and funk intact. Off Hoist, their last truly great album, though I suppose for sheer comprehensive conceit you’d have to go with Rift. Mike Gordon is a bass god second only to Victor Wooton.

Let’s Make A Family, Mark Erelli

A silly little ditty about family that goes on for far too long. I liked Erelli plenty when he was a singer-songwriter -- the country music swing is a bit much for him. You can practically hear him grinning throughout.

And They All Look Broken Hearted, Four Tet

This is okay for background – mellow, harpish strings, jazz cymbal brush. I liked the Four Tet cover of Iron Man; I guess I must have downloaded some other stuff of theirs afterwards.

Stem, Hayden

See, I don’t even know what this is. Maudlin hair rock ballad thing, though the vocals are kind of Evan Dando harmony, in a good way. That’s what I get for being so indiscriminant with my mp3 downloading.

Five Days In May, Salamander Crossing

More folk bluegrass. Do all iPods get into these genre ruts? Anyway, this one’s nice and pleasant. Salamander Crossing rocked.

Steal My Kisses, Ben Harper

Beautiful beatbox. Catchy chorus. Fun to sing along to. (sings) “Always have to steal my kisses from yoooo…”

Act, White Rabbit

For a while, some mp3 blogs were trying to be the first to collect and post every cover of a song. A few gems in those lists, but I ended up filling my hard drive with really awful music. Like this one. Classic tune, cheesy 80s synthpop cover.

Um, sorry. What? Twelve already? Okay, let me know if you want to hear any of this for yourself. Not sure the RIAA would care -- it's not like I'm AV Club Famous or anything.

posted by boyhowdy | 2:11 PM | 1 comments

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Back To Mundania 

Check-ups and dentist appointments. Solo shopping while the kids nap. A bit of cleaructting in the yard: the big pines raised to make room for firewood stacks, the forsythia cut back from the bulhead. Far too much time on the Better Homes and Gardens arrange-a-deck software, dreaming of next summer.

In the evening, feeling fed up and cooped up, with no planned direction we follow a rumor, discover Fenders, a drive-in burger and ice cream joint by the shores of Holland Lake. Willow asks the ride the mechanical horse. Cassia holds out her hand, begs for quarters. Waterskiers fly by across the busy vacation road, their laughter drowned by the buzz of their towboats.

On the way home I stop suddenly at the dam runoff, remembering fishing gear still in our trunk. Cassia and Darcie walk home; Willow and I drag the bottom for hours, until it gets too dark to see our own lines. The weather is fine, the company sweet and grateful for the attention. Willow learns to cast, hits fifteen feet out on the nose. We catch nothing, and care not.

The curious suspension between summer and school year is much as it ever was. The back of the brain tickles with the rowing awareness that, soon, the world will expect things of you again. Each moment becomes overwrought with portent; soon, faint deperation will begin to flavor the minutes.

It's probably true of all teachers: in Fall we lose the ability to become one with the universe, lean into the system instead, like stepping onto a moving sidewalk, teeter for a moment, get our bearings, ride ever onwards.

It's a different life, this coming electrical storm, one no less fulfilling and full for what it is. The worklife is so western, so absent of Zen: I love it when I'm there, and in the groove...but I don't always love the me that lives there, if you know what I mean.

posted by boyhowdy | 10:59 PM | 1 comments

Monday, August 14, 2006

The Wanderer, At Home
A return, in improptu doggerel 

The sand is gone from tween his toes.
His tan begins to flake.
About the sterile house he goes
shedding sunlight in his wake.

His garden bloomed while he was gone.
It sports a hundred blooms unknown.
Each, like the lawn, is overgrown,
too tall to hold weight of its own.

And so he lies, like these bright flowers,
on shaded concrete steps, and waits
for hours, for the coming Fall,
And dirties the house with his plates.

posted by boyhowdy | 12:28 PM | 1 comments
coming soon
now listening