It’s good that we are going to get some warmer temps for a few days.

It’s good that we are not in Buffalo, NY. with all that snow causing plows not to  work and roofs to cave in.  Send some comforting thoughts to our snow friends to the northeast.

It is good that first graders are still excited about the butterflies/moths that are hatching in their classrooms.  For those of you who aren’t familiar with the project, the caterpillars are gathered in the fall along with the milkweed and put in a three foot cylinder covered in a soft white mesh which is hung in the classroom. Eventually, the caterpillars spin  cocoons and then the wait begins.  Usually, the flying beauties are ready to be released while it’s still warm enough for them to survive.  Not so much this year, so I’m not sure what the teachers will do.

There are no more class pets due to allergies.

It is good that we live in the United States.  Every day as I walk into school, I look up at that beautiful flag waving against the blue sky and say a silent prayer that I work and now volunteer at a school in the U.S.  For as many problems that schools face now, we have free speech and there is not a ban on  teaching girls. Women as well as men can teach. Supplies are abundant and kids don’t have to walk five miles both ways.  Books are in the library, ready to be picked up and read. Classrooms are brightly decorated, warm and welcoming. Every student has a desk that is theirs for the year.  We are fortunate and this is something to be thankful for.

It is good that when given a choice, most people choose hope and love.  Read Naomi Shihab Nye’s letter on Facebook. (I shared it yesterday)

It is good that Buffy has not discovered the small paper pieces of the Blue Heron before I have fastened them to the background.  Shhhhhh… she’s still sleeping…

Here’s today’s poem:

Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle Received from a Friend Called Felicity,  by John Tobias

 

During that summer

When unicorns were still possible;

When the purpose of knees

Was to be skinned;

When shiny horse chestnuts

(Hollowed out

Fitted with straws

Crammed with tobacco

Stolen from butts

In family ashtrays)

Were puffed in green lizard silence

While straddling thick branches

Far above and away

From the softening effects

Of civilization;

 

During that summer—

Which may never have been at all;

But which has become more real

Than the one that was—-

Watermelons ruled.

Thick pink imperial slices

Melting frigidly on sun-parched tongues

Dribbling from chins;

Leaving the best part,

The black bullet seeds,

To be spit out in rapid fire

Against the wall

Against the wind

Against each other;

 

And when the ammunition was spent,

There was always another bite:

It was a summer of limitless bites,

Of hungers quickly felt

And quickly forgotten

With the next careless gorging.

 

The bites are fewer now.

Each one is savored lingeringly,

Swallowed reluctantly.

 

But in a jar put up by Felicity,

The summer that maybe never was

Has been captured and preserved.

And when we unscrew the lid

And slice off a piece

And let it linger on our tongue:

Unicorns become possible again.

 

Isn’t that a lovely poem?  It wraps me like a hug and brings me back to skinned knees and spit seeds.

Celebrate the weekend!

Janet