Home Sweet Home

After a full and intense day of teaching, it's nice to come home to "ordinary life," don't you think?

(What, you don't have an alien head biting a princess wallet in your house?  Pfft)

What warms your heart at the end of a long day?

How Curious

How is it possible that I can skim through a draft of a complex scholarly essay, understand the multilayered arguments, and recommend what needs to be kept/let go in order to get it to page limit and focus it...

But I cannot understand really simple knitting patterns until I've read them twelve times and asked someone about them?

How did I end up so hopelessly impractical, coming from a family of DIY and artistic/crafty types?

Tuned in, Turned off?

Last week, while sitting in the rather large waiting room before Sam's endocrine appointment, I looked up and glanced around the room. Suddenly, it occured to me:  Every single person except for me was staring at a smart phone.  Me?  I had a book in my hand.  Eventually, I saw one other woman with a book as well. 

It was eerie.  Even teenagers interacting with each other did so by showing each other stuff on their phones. 

Now, I know that I am something of a relic (I downgraded from a smart phone to just a regular cell phone, and I don't tweet)...but, I've got to wonder what's happened to us as a society when all we do is spend our time on tiny little screens.

It scares me, this constant busy-ness and tech connection.  For a while, I lost track of reading for pleasure because I was "too busy."  I might have mentioned earlier that coming back to it has been like coming back home to my true self.  I love the feel and smell of a book.  I love "falling" into it, whether it is fiction or nonfiction.  Kindle books aren't the same, though I will probably have to put up with them when in Ecuador next year.

I also love conversation, especially in person, but also on the phone, via letters, or even via email with the handful of people in my life (yes, you Kevin) who know how to treat it like real letter writing.  I have no great desire to share my thoughts in 140 words or less, or to stare at tiny little screens instead of talking with a real, live, breathing person.

I worry about a society in which few people ever experience the joy of reading a good book, or of engaging in a real, full (and in-person) conversation.  I wonder if I am made for this world, at this time.

Are there any modern "conveniences" that scare the heck out of you?

Moon Magic

We're back in Maine for the weekend, and there was a beautiful moon last night.  Here is a picture I took with my camera:

And here are pictures that I took putting my camera up to Howard's new telescope!

I wish I could have gotten more; it was hard to capture it with the camera...sometimes we could even see craters.

Color me captivated.  How are you capturing the moon these days?

The Silver lining

If there is any consolation for me about losing access to the claw-foot tub in Maine, it's returning to my rickety, beloved screened in porch in Mass.  Oh, and the espresso in the mug from Cuenca doesn't hurt either.

Thank you, Howard, for getting the porch ready for me while I was on campus yesterday!

Transitioning

Yesterday, we drove back to Massachusetts.  Time to transition back to life here, getting ready for the academic year and for the upcoming trip to Ecuador in January. 

I'm sad to see the summer come to an end.  It was a time of tremendous productivity with my new book, and lots of ordinary magic with the kids.  There are things that I will particularly miss:

This lovely stove, with Anya's artwork above it:

My pantry (I do so love pantries):

Sam's moon painting:

Walks along the breakwater:

Sam's rediscovery of sketching:

Anya discovering a love of reading while snacking:

And, of course, there's the tub.  I might just miss the tub most of all:



But, although I am not looking forward to a rushed pace when the school year starts, there are reasons that it's good to be back:

It's so interesting seeing how lush things have gotten since I left in late May.  On my morning walk, I went past sunflowers taller than me!  (I adore sunflowers).

Oh, and we have a sitter coming over tonight!  First time in about 3 months. 

The kids were getting antsy toward the end of our time in Maine.  It is time for them to get back to their regular school year routines.

And, although I hope to keep the craziness at bay during the semester, I think it's time for me to be around more people in my daily life than I was over the summer.

We did bring some things back from Maine.  The kids are still doing lots of art, and we plan trips to the library soon.  And they've already requested pancakes for dinner:

What will you miss from summer?  What do you look forward to as fall approaches?

The smell of sadness

Tonight, while getting a drink of water from the kitchen tap, I caught an odd, sweet, distinctive smell.  For a moment I tried to place it, then it was obvious: insulin.  Sam's been running in the 300s with his blood glucose all day, so Howard changed his reservior tonight in case there were bubbles in the tubing that were keeping the insulin from getting into the boy.

It's a smell that, when it catches me off guard like this, makes me so sad.  Not weeping sad--nothing that dramatic.  Just a hollow kind of sadness that Sam has to deal with this crap every day of his life.  It was four years last Saturday.  Mostly I am grateful every day for insulin, because my son is healthy and funny and vibrant.  But today, taking me by surprise, it made me blue.