Sunday, March 12, 2017


"And they were saying this girl was CRAZY for writing a speech there," Lucy says. Circled up at the big brown table we eat bits of leftovers.

"Oh," I say. I chase a piece of cayenne dusted pizza around my plate while other kids eat eggs, oatmeal, or miscellaneous vegetables. Fresh home from a wrestling tournament, we gather for early dinner, early card games, early bedtime.

"Yeah," Jack says around pizza snookered in his cheek, "but the lunch lady said that you COULD work on homework if you wanted."

"Huh," I say, "you can really see the mindset."

"What do you mean?" Jane looks up from a rectangle of bread and butter, blinks at me.

"Like those kids hating work," I say. "It's too bad. They're making it so they're gonna hate a large percentage of their lives if they hate work."

"Huh," she says.

"Or," I say, "you can teach yourself to love work like we are trying to do, and you make a huge percentage of your life pleasure."

"Why don't they do that?" she says.

"It's hard," I say.

"Huh," she says. "I don't know why they don't." She leans on an elbow encircling the side of her plate. Other heads nod as they begin to exodus for the dishwasher and dish duty. "I can see why they would despise someone who loves work," she says, "but I just don't see why they don't."

An open-aired moment, there, wide like the room around us gathers up as the neck of a satchel, and shrinks down into tasks, plates shuttled to the kitchen, go-fish cards dealt in their place. Like bits of shell, glass, and pebbles, some understanding of work lies caught in that small pocket of time.


6293. I have my varicose veins evaluated with good results and a treatment plan.

6294. I pass a headache under the gentle care of Craig and the kids.

6295. The children beg to get up earlier to have their schoolwork done by lunch or as early as possible.

6296. I continue to alter, thrift, and repurpose clothing to our needs.

6297. Craig continues to treasure hunt at local second hand stores. He and Jane come home with $200 boots for $10 (for her) and a grins wide enough to circle the whole house.

6298. I continue to add into each day the sweet, sweet joy of knitting.

6299. I figure out how to wrap George on my back. He grins like I'm his new pony.

6300. We continue to organize our schedule into a more normal configuration. At least it's the most normal since George was born.

6301. Doing fewer things, leaving room for margin, we begin to seamlessly move from task to task. I find the art of responding to many things at once easier, even pleasurable.

6302. Jack continues to wrestle. He relays moves and strategy to me with surgeon-like precision. I watch him discipline his mind and body and without knowing it begin to describe things like self-governance and discipline.

6303. I take note of these many, many moments spinning by, filling my world with spindrift, riches flung across every single day. These are good days. I don't think any part of the rest of life will be quite like this.

1 comment:

  1. "These are the good days..." my whole life feels like this. Every moment my best chance to know God better. Brings me to my knees.

    It's very much akin to the way you think about work.