Here and There

Thursday, January 29, 2015


Reading:  Job, The White Album by Joan Didion and The Japanese Art of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo
Listening:  The Decemberists/What a Terrible World, What a Beautiful World, Entire Mates of State library, Becca Richardson EP, Motown Pandora station
Watching:  Finished "The Returned", wow.
Doing: KonMari-ing everything, planning things to plant, jotting down lines i don't want to forget to write further on, clearing the desk, exercising.

I am ready to sabbatical.  

Tuesday, January 13, 2015


This word has been "the word" lately.  I've said it a lot.  People say it to me a lot.  I think about it.  I imagine it.  I romanticize it.

But in reality, I will be taking a sabbatical for 4 months starting in just a couple weeks.  I imagine I will be a better version on myself during it.  Resting, full of serenity and perspective.  Writing, parenting with more patience and grace than I ever have, a delightful companion to my husband, cooking, gardening, reading.  Oh, that's just me, on sabbatical.  Ha!  Right?  I can't help it.  I wish for all that, but in reality I know that I will be lost.  I will feel disconnected and strange, I will feel all the weariness that sits there waiting. 

But even so, I have high hopes for this time.  I will rest.  We will take a family vacation to a beautiful place and rest together.  I will write poems that have been asking to be written.  I will walk.  I will pray.  I have been listening to Paul Simon, and this song Quiet has been echoing:

I am heading for a time of quiet
When my restlessness is past
And I can lie down on my blanket
And release my fists at last
I am heading for a time of solitude
Of peace without illusions
When the perfect circle marries
All beginnings and conclusions
And when they say
That you're not good enough
Well, the answer is
You're not
But who are they
Or what is it
That eats at what you've got?
With the hunger of ambition
For the change inside the purse
They are handcuffs on the soul, my friends
Handcuffs on the soul
And worse
And I am heading for a place of quiet
Where the sage and sweet grass grow
By a lake of sacred water
From the mountain’s melted snow