Heptadecagon

"I want to be a painter," she said, the day I met her. She sat huddled in a chair, her large bag next to her and a stack of books on the table. I didn't understand why'd she brought all that she did with her, but now, after knowing her for several years, it was clear to me the purpose of her stuff: comfort. She clung to the things she carried as if they had the power to keep harm away. Maybe in her head, they did have that power. Who knows. "If you want to be a painter," I said, "then you shall be a painter." I tried to emphasize the word want so that she knew what I meant: she needed to want it enough to do something about making her dream a reality. She needed to align her actions with her mouth, and pick up the brushes and the paint and the canvas. Here we are, several years later with little to show for her efforts. And I think it's because those efforts have been slim. "I need to sit down and paint," she says, and then se

After almost 16 years of marriage, over 14 of those with children, I'm pretty tired of cooking. I'm tired of the act of cooking, the decisions that go into cooking, and the list of recipes I have in my repertoire. Yes, I could ask the kids to cook--one child for each day of the week--and that would help cut down my responsibility in some ways. But in other ways, it would make more work for myself. So, I'm at an impasse. While I decide what I want to do about cooking in this family, I'm trying quick and easy recipes on nights when we have leftovers in the fridge in the event the kids don't like what I'm making. (Yes, sometimes I cater to my kids. Other times, I don't give them a choice about what they're eating.) The other night, I decided to throw some ravioli in the pot for Tim and me since the kids had pizza and veggies to eat. As I boiled the water, I decided that regular red sauce was too mundane, so I looked for a creamy garlic sauce. Now, I'

On Monday morning, I met a friend for coffee at the local coffee joint--the place where I can buy a flavored milk drink for more than the price of a gallon of milk. We chose the spot because it was close, and both of us would likely have children at home, all alone. If anyone needed help, we could be there in five minutes. We'd come together to discuss many subjects, one of them being homeschooling. I'd entertained the idea in the past, and she had plans to pull one of her three kids out of school. I wasn't there to give her my approval; we simply conversed about what we thought the schools did well, or didn't do well, and what our experiences had been like. We've been rather lucky, I think, to live in a school district with great teachers and administrators, and for the most part, we're happy. But I often think of what my kids' education could be like if I taught them myself. I'm not bragging, but I know a lot of different subjects and how to resear

She used to chop the onions for tuna salad into tiny pieces. She used to read any book she could get her hands on. She used to make popsicles out of grape juice. She used to drown the popcorn in butter. She used to curl her hair each morning. She used to be able to fix a faucet. She used to call me every week. She used to play softball. She used to pay bills. She used to...

Summer has started here, so I'll need all the writing inspiration I can find. Because I will no doubt have enough fodder for good stories, but not enough time to do anything with that fodder...

One of my mother's favorite authors is Erma Bombeck . I find it coincidental that I ended up living where she lived for many years. Thanks to Mom's influence, I've quoted Erma for a long time. In fact, one of her quotes sits below my signature line of my personal email: There are people who put their dreams in a little box and say, "Yes, I've got dreams, of course I've got dreams." Then they put the box away and bring it out once in awhile to look in it, and yep, they're still there. I've been doing a lot of reflecting on Bombeck's quote lately because for a long time, I said to myself, Mom had dreams. I know she did. But she stuck them in that box and never did anything with them. I'd fault her for not having the courage to follow her dreams, all while spouting that we were to follow ours. And with each step I took, with each decision I made, I'd say to myself, I'm doing what my mother didn't . That has to mean something,

Talia brought home a sketchbook from her art class yesterday. One of the assignments was to draw about social issues --an assignment that Talia admitted was broad in scope. The picture below is what she came up with: What Talia drew brought up a whole discussion on the issues she raised in the picture. I'm not only astounded at all the things middle school kids have to think about these days, but also at Talia's interpretation of them.

I don't know about anyone else, but as much as I love lilacs--and I do! I have a story called Hunting for Lilacs for goodness sakes!--that redesign with the lilacs got to me. Each time I looked at it, I felt old for some reason. Maybe it has to do with the fact that lilacs are purple and purple reminds me of the poem with the line, "When I am an old woman I shall wear purple." Whatever the reason, I needed another change in this forum. And here we are with a background picture from the blogger choices. How long will this background last? No clue. But I'm breathing easier already. Which means I hope that my writing will flow easier, too. Only time will tell, of course. *Squirrel!*

Wherever you turn, you can find someone who needs you. Even if it is a little thing, do something for which there is no pay but the privilege of doing it. Remember, you don’t live in the world all of your own. ~Albert Schweitzer Dear Southdale Family, My husband, children, and I have been a part of the Southdale Elementary School community since August, 2007, when our oldest children, the twins, started kindergarten. I remember those first days, thinking how big the school was, and wondering how we'd fit into what seemed like such a large community. I quickly discovered that the way to become familiar with the building and the people, the way to make myself a part of the family, per se, was to volunteer at the school during some of my spare time. My volunteering started off slowly: I helped if the teacher needed some copying done or served as a parent chaperone for a field trip. I signed up to monitor the halls at the Spaghetti Dinner (now called Southdale Family Fun N

Back in 2003, when we moved into our home, we left the window treatments in the living room alone. I didn't hate the blinds; I didn't love the blinds. But cash was short and the littles were small. Since that time, we've accumulated more children and more animals and truth be told, I didn't care what was on the windows, just that something covered them up at night. (You know, when the lurkers could peer into the window and see all on-goings of the family.) But soon enough, due to the animals and the children, the blinds began to break. I tried as hard as I could to mend or replace each one, but to no avail. And a few months ago, I asked my friend to come over and give us an estimate for something casual and clean to hang in the windows. "No curtains?" he said. "The windows are in the corners, and while I think curtains are okay ...selecting them involves too many decisions. Plus, the cats will hang on them." "Blinds then?" he asked.

With my busier schedule as of late, I've not been a regular Facebook cruiser. I still hop on for Literary Mama and The Plot Sisters business (I think I've said this before) as well as to help spread the word about friends' ventures (and some personal blog posts), but I don't have the time to play there anymore. Yet on Mother's Day, I took a quick break from my grades to put together a Book of the Week post for the Plot Sister page, and I happened to see this post from a friend: I have three (too many) friends who each witnessed the end of a life cycle over the past several months and find themselves on this day reaching out to their mothers only in their hearts. Peace to each of you. His words, while only that, are heartfelt and sincere, a touching tribute to his friends and their losses. I thought about what he had to say for the majority of the evening because I had just spent some time with my own mother, someone I haven't physically lost yet. Bu

She is friends only with those who serve a greater purpose...to her.

Last year I spoke about clarity , a word that can mean different things to different people. It's imperative to write with clarity so that you're understood. But in another sense, clarity means having peace of mind and body. Many days exist where I struggle to find that clarity, and usually, something or someone helps me recapture it. I think perhaps my problem right now is finding that elusive clarity such that my mind is open to writing again. I'm not talking about having a block, per se. I can write if I sit down and do it. But do I want to write? Not so much. (Although I had a fantastic time with the most recent Dear Student letter.) And what I fear is that if I give up writing in this forum, it will be too easy to never go back. Plus, I'm continually amazed at what comes out of my head sometimes. So here's what I propose for a little while: I'm going to post a picture (my own or that of others) each day or maybe every other day or maybe it'll be

Dear Student, It's been just about a month since I wrote the last letter to you. (Which reminds me...I wonder if you remember what goblet cells do. No, actually, I don't want to know if you know. Ignorance is bliss, as they say.) And here we are, on the day of the comprehensive exam, and I find myself writing again. Did you know that in just over seven hours, you will be done with me? That's provided you pass the class. Which I hope you do, because I think I've had enough of student behavior to get me through the summer and then some. (Ah, summer. I can't wait because guess what? I don't teach in the summer!) What has caused me to put thoughts on paper this time? No, it's not your lack of knowledge per se or your inability to pay attention. It's not even the fact that you might walk into class a bit late each day. (I got used to that action a long time ago.) No, it's a little fact that I stated at the beginning of the semester. A fact that you,

As I sit at the table in the corner of our dining area, furiously typing as I try to catch the last of the evening sun, I have to ask myself: is this it? Is this the end of the blog? You see, over the last several months (five to be precise), I've watched as my drive to write has dwindled. The enjoyment I get from posting each day no longer gets me through that day and into the next, and I find myself drawn toward wanting to make my current pieces better rather than spend the time updating you on what's happening. Why is that? I don't have an answer. So until I have an answer, I'm thinking that I'll take some time to figure out what I need and what this blog needs, and whether or not I can sustain this relationship any more. Because no relationship should be a strain on any of the parties. I can't say that's not the case here. Stay tuned...