for a break is valuable but when you stop what do you do? does the mind wander too much? why is it hard to refocus? start again, build momentum why stop? is it to observe? try something new? look for something, or let something find you? rather than restarting, it's time to continue this thing that sustains and feeds me, consider words that want to be said, that need saying was the stopping meant for listening? how do you bring everything together?
tart and sweet flavor and stain a round mound of crushed ice packed into a paper cone on a hot summer day macerated, fill and sweeten a layer between white wedding cakes, the top tier saved for that first year anniversary shared two weeks later after the honeymoon because it was so darn good why save it? two fresh ones kerplunk! into a sink full of dirty dishwater escaping the dysfunctional sieve of a hand while another plops their neighbors into a waiting mouth
of oranges sprinkled with salt sticky sweet juice dribbling down a chin of memories well lived some uneventful bursting with simplicity some saved for savoring later when the mood strikes of time held on an analog clock holding still in good times or bad placeholders for stealing moments to write contemplate create of stories interwoven across miles initiating laughter provoking thoughts ideas resonating with souls unleashing frustration distraction confusion affirming realities and struggles inspiring hope and kindness through shared Words
finds us dodging each other bumping almost shoulder to shoulder stepping over a wet towel or bunched up pajamas if it's a bad morning, we'll argue if it's a good morning, we'll argue a little less "clean up the toothpaste worms from the sink" I remind her for the hundredth time "I KNOW!" she snatches the brush before I can get to it so I plug in the hair dryer instead I decide to let the exasperation and tone roll off not. worth. it. I wear my thick-skinned fur coat 24/7 grit my teeth, breathe in, breathe out and carry on with my morning "this eye looks good but why is this eye just NOT working?!" a white washcloth smudges off a crooked layer of eyeliner along with a few tears she doesn't want me to see I lean in, mascara wand trying to make some magic happen for my own eyes I don't have time to smudge it off "how? how can you put on mascara without opening your mouth?" I continue applying my face she continues applying hers, sneaking a glance at my expertise with a mascara wand "I've been doing this longer than you've been alive" she leans in with her own wand mouth wide open satisfied, she steps back I look at our reflection and try not to think about the days I braided her hair in front of this mirror and she'd want to help with my makeup
wafted toward me this morning out of nowhere empty street no kids playing backyards seemed bare, still from where did this little bubble appear without others trailing behind? one shimmery rainbow glistening bubble floating in the air is it Glinda coming to pay me a visit grant me some wishes? promise I won’t cheat no asking for three more wishes but seriously, here I am a grown woman looking for Glinda the Good Witch in her puffy pink ball gown crowned in her sparkling tiara waving that magic wand contemplating three hopeful wishes that floated along in a single bubble until somewhere it popped
It's spring today Had to double check A brightening sun teases me through the window as I write It's still cold outside, but it doesn't have winter's bite I'm cutting short my morning puttering Got a lot done yesterday so I could enjoy the whole of today I typically get the Sunday blues on Saturday night lamenting a long list of Still Needs To Get Done Before Monday Back to work Monday A back to work rain in the forecast Monday Today, I'm going out to play with a spring in my step a taste for the end of May
The 'tween is helping with dinner burgers Hubster is cooking I'm playing with a craft project Clean-up is mine for tonight A chunk of lettuce flies from 'tween's hands and the discussion quickly goes to the three second rule "I didn't see that" I say, "It's okay," 'tween says "the wet pieces may or may not have been on the floor, it's not like someone's feet were there and we don't talk about Bruno..." Noooo! not that song again! I've had some bubbly today, I don't care dinner is cooked it's spring break I had friend time this afternoon I'll skip the lettuce It's still spring break and I'm trying not to care too much Life goes on with or without lettuce on a burger
What’s in the glass?
Milk, half full
Margarita, half empty
Coca-Cola, half full
Any kind of diet drink, half full
Coffee, half empty
Sangria, half empty
Ask a teen, “I don’t know.”
Ask a toddler, they spilled the glass
Ask a teacher, too full, no time for a bathroom break
Exhausted
Plodded through the day
It’s spring break
but
my spring broke
two long years ago
I need sleep
As I worked with a small group of students using the button maker, another student came in, hunting me down. What’s so urgent?
“Mrs. Garza! I have to show you this!”
She holds a folded red bandana. Usually students either show me their own copies of a book I recently added to our collection. A published piece of writing from language arts class. A LEGO mini-figure. A new mani. A second ear piercing.
Walking toward the desk, she slowly unwrapped the bandana. “Look what I have. I need to be careful or it’ll break. It’s over a hundred years old.” Leaving the bandana on the table, she cradled it. A book, but not one I recently added to the collection. It was old. Over a hundred years old. A yellow envelope peeked out from underneath the front cover. I almost didn’t want to touch it, but I couldn’t wait to hold it.
Leather. Old leather, with pieces so worn they had fallen off. I needed gloves to handle it and here she was, brining it to school wrapped in a bandana and plopped into a backpack. Our new library bound books can barely take the brunt of a middle schooler’s backpack. “Where…”
“I got it at a garage sale! The lady gave it to me. I didn’t even have to pay for it. She said it belonged to her grandfather.” Another story about an hour after the previous grandfather story. Must’ve been National Grandfathers Leave Something Special to a Loved One Day and I didn’t get the memo. “Look at the letter!” she exclaims excitedly. “It has actual writing from the 1800’s.” Definitely an artifact because it’s actual writing. Opening the cover, she explains how the page had fallen out, or rather, broken out. There it was, a note with actual writing on it.
I tried not to gasp. I’m not sure if the book is worth anything, but the page was glued onto a sheet of paper which was glued onto an envelope. Yikes! I’m not an archivist, but this one may or may not be worth taking to an archivist. Wanting to check the publication date, I tried to open the next page to find information. It was too brittle. Not wanting to damage it, I opened pages that wanted to be opened. The print is still in decent condition.
I imagine I would’ve fallen in love with this book had I been able to see it back in the 1800s. Sometimes you can judge a book by its cover. I saved the title for last. A book of poems by John Milton. I spoke a little of what I remember about John Milton, which isn’t much, and his famous Paradise Lost. I asked for permission to take pictures. I suggested she check into having an expert take a look at it. What thrilled her most was the note written inside and the fact she got it free. At a garage sale.
This was a second story to add to my collection in the same day. My campus was without a librarian last year and library activities halted. It’s taken me a while to get the flow of it, get to know the teachers, and get to know the students. They are coming in more frequently now, teachers and students. And they’re sharing their stories with me. Even if they were free from a garage sale. I call that a win.
Nerds Beget Nerds 