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In this blog I have created a haven, a place I allow my deepest emotions to go and sit. I can write easily about what I’ve accomplished. This biography I can recite in my sleep. But I’ve always written poetry and in diaries since I was a teenager. I continued to write poetry in my journals, and not until 2006 did I show them to anyone. I generally write every day, at the present in memoir form. I haven’t written poetry since my mother died in January, 2007. I didn’t write at all between her death and the death of my father three years later in January, 2010. On my father’s birthday in March, 2010, I began this blog, to honor my father and to help me grieve. But I also desperately needed to write, and this stream of conscious style emerged. I needed to find my organic voice.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Evening Reflection


The past few days have been so puzzling. Used as I am to the tougher road, I floated along life’s groove yesterday, and the peace I had was so remarkable, I smiled and went with it. And I didn’t ask any questions. I went with the flow!  As a type A personality with a desire to diversify, going with the flow is a real aspiration. I am okay with this feeling, that I am part of the world in its greater spinning. It was a gentle confirmation that it does, indeed, spin without me. I find peace in this sweet revelation.  Being a recovering control freak is no easy feat! These moments, days in the flow of the universe are mysterious and magical. No highs or lows, just a gentle sususration, like tall grasses in a breeze. Beautiful.
Tonight one of my students presented her senior voice recital. It was wonderful.  She is a very talented young singer, but she is also an excellent student, scooping up information and processing it without having to be hit over the head with it.  She has grown into a motivated, spirited young woman who is growing into a confident singer. My equivocation about academia was stymied tonight as I heard her sing. I could stay longer if I had more students like her: naturally talented,  open to teaching and trusting the teacher’s knowledge; practicing regularly, listening to famous singers sing, watching her teacher perform. Taking her teacher’s notes seriously. Processing and producing. This is a job that uses my intellect. This is the kind of teaching I crave. 

I've had a few wonderful interchanges with my sister this week, after a frenzied exchange just before we closed on dad's house.  A bump in the road. A bump on a bumpy road, that's more like it. My sister is a very loving person, but she doesn't know herself. I want her to feel empowered. If I could give it to her as a Christmas or birthday present I would. She and I realize we are both struggling with the loss of our parents, particularly our father, to whom we were both so close. It took us a while to recognize that we are struggling in different ways. We've been talking on Facebook every day now, just telling each other little bits of our day. I really like this. Maybe we can weave each other into our lives with things like this. I hope so. We get on each other's nerves very easily, so I lead her as I can into calm and even territory. 

Tomorrow is a recovery day. I need to re-tool some class materials for Friday's lecture and make some decisions about the rest of the semester so the students don't keep freaking out.  I am feeling confident tonight, after a few peaceful days, free of gut-wrenching grief, that I can manage the tasks at hand.  Amen.

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