Monday, June 22, 2009

Uncertainty: a random partial poem

Some things you are sure of
Like keys under the flower pot
Garbage can under the kitchen sink
Light switch four inches around the corner when you open the door
It’s such an uncertain moment
When you find that exception
And you stand there in the dark
With your hand on the doorknob, wondering what else in life
You might take for granted

Tuesday, June 2, 2009


I am home.

I kick off my flip-flops and use my feet to cover rows of small seeds in the garden.
Naomi steals my camera and takes pictures of 47 random things.
I am awake at least an hour after I go to bed. There are 9 of us girls in one room: enough said.
We take turns sitting on the couch and chairs when we watch movies.
I drive Mom's nova or the van, and realize, I have driven only my car for months on end.
Abbi plays my piano every day... several times. I am jealous and start playing again.
My dog follows me around everywhere, and when she stops for a rest her eyes track me around the room.
Emili, Elsi and Abbi are writing stories on the computer and ask for critiques.
Five-year-olds grab my hands and twiddle with my fingernails.
Five-year-olds sit on my lap and ask for a back rub/scratch/pounding.
Five-year-olds wheedle for stories at nap time.
We find a frog in the creek and play with it for 15 minutes on our gardening break.
Mom develops pictures and we spend hours going through them all.
After a day in the, we compare sunburns as we slather on the aloe vera.
Fresh milk in the fridge.
I'm not the only peanut-butter nut.
Dial-up internet. *dubious blessing*
Jeeves and Wooster and the Dick van Dyke show.
We are dessert people even if we don't want to admit it.
Silas tells us about what's happening in his novel every day or so.
Standing in line for the bathroom, or for showers.
Dad prays about everything, and family devotions can go on for over an hour. Easily.
We sing the doxology or the gloria patri before dinner every night.