failing to breathe

Cool sunlight this final day of February awakened a desire to be outside.  Read that as a quality of being as much as a statement of place.  I wanted to BE outside.  Be the infinite shapes of green leaves—long thin palm strands, vesica pisces shaped oak leaves, fat almost spongy leaves of the (names I know not) plants populating the rim of my patio, the scalloped wide leaves of the hibiscus, the delicate and light leaves of the dragon bamboo...among all the others.  I ventured out with my wee camera, hoping to get a pic or two of maybe my beloved wee dragons but I haven’t seen any in quite awhile.  I hope that means nothing other than my timing is bad.

I’ve been really sick—horrific pain in my throat like swallowing sharp jagged rocks.  I was sure it was strep.  Today my nurse practitioner called to say the culture came back negative.  Then I have found something every bit as painful and difficult to get rid of as strep. 

Ended up going to the ER last night because I couldn’t breathe—my nasal passages had turned to quicksand.  I would swallow and my throat would stick with the glue of post-nasal drip and no air would pass through my nose or mouth and it was harrowing.  Too much stress of trying to get the kids squared away at school...I lost track of what I was doing to get well, time moving at a completely different rate than normal.  Apparently I had begun to consider the saline rinse as the same as gargling and when you over rinse, the ER doctor said, it has the opposite impact.  So there I was wondering what was wrong and just continuing to try to squeeze in a little more saline to open the passage, and all I was doing was making it worse....  Allegra D brought down the swelling and I slept in two hour cycles (every night since Friday or Saturday the longest had been 20 minute cycles).

It terrified me.  There was something i was supposed to do to make it right and I wasn't doing it.  I couldn’t fix it. In fact in abject ignorance and mindlessness I was, in effect, killing myself. What an awakening!  I prayed and it felt like the prayer wasn’t being answered—but of course it was ultimately. Seems annually (if not more frequently) something exceedingly profound and life-altering happens.  How fragile life is, especially our own...and doing something stupid, mindless, out of ignorance, that could somehow alter it forever or even lose it, profoundly disturbed me---but that was all shrouded in wordless fear.

Although there is a persistent hum in my head as if I were aboard a space ship, I feel so very much better today.  Now the search is all about how to prevent this from recurring. 

One more thing...I do not intend to break any copyright laws...just here to share Keat’s poem: 

When I have fears that I may cease to be
    Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
    Hold like rich garners the full-ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starred face,
    Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
    Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
    That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
    Of unreflecting love! — then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

strep throat. no memory...just sentences. 2.26.13

i have strep.  i am on steroids.  steroids are bad.  i see a kind of yellow film on the bushes and branches of leaves and i think it must be sunlight.

i can write a russian novel on how it feels to swallow small sharp gravel perpetually.  i have to start sentences with i.  i cannot sleep.  i can drink water which hurts only slightly less than when i am compelled to swallow for no reason.  why do we swallow for no reason?  because the itty bitty sharp rocks must fall.  i know where they come from.  coughing for no reason.  though i had rocks two days before coughing.

i can not sleep.  i can not rest.  i can not think clearly to write lesson plans for my poor substitute who is earning every bit of her pay as i encourage her to just wing it according to her instincts.  she is someone i know and trust so no worries there but bless her heart she's a bit frantic this morning about what i wanted...apparently i spoke of tomorrow's plans on today's plans and...

enough of that track.

i'm baking a chicken right now so i can make my own chicken soup.  bad when it's easier just to make it yourself than to go to the store and buy it. 

i did however run to comcast because the bastards figured out another way to screw up ...  i have a receipt now...but i had a receipt on january 30th also. 

i may not be pushing up daisies but i feel a lot like something a cow dropped on a random, arid path. 

you'd think the severely horrific pain would go away!  my throoaaaaaat....and talking on the phone to the substitute and then to the comcast lady (who thinks i'm insane and that's fine but they've driven me to it) my throat hurts even more...cautionary tale for going back to school.  taking tomorrow also.  have got to go back thursday.  this is ridiculous.  and book club is thursday night.  i missed the last bookclub because of going home to mama's birthday and this week it's at a member's house down in jupiter farms which is nearly 40 minutes away and i should cancel it but i'm the discussion leader!  i just can't cancel...so there is stupidity in my future.

yesterday i should have posted what the doctor said...as my memory sentence..."yep, i can see a lot of creamy stuff hanging back there.  a lot of creamy stuff."  she said the zyrtec i started taking saturday makes it worse.  what?  how am i supposed to deal with allergy attacks when allergy meds make it worse?  oh because it's strep throat and a sinus infection.  well the wee bugger bollocks didn't introduce itself when it started shoveling gravel into my throat!  creamy stuff indeed.  you'd think it would kinda mask the pain.  okay i have to stop.  obviously i'm rambling worse than usual...

wish i could sleep.  or find a good movie to escape into...

i want to add that you should research victor hugo.  what an interesting guy--heard garrison keiler this morning talk about him...i will look it up again when i feel better...  www.writersalmanac.com i think... will fix this later if necessary...

Shopping Walmart before dawn

Best time to shop Walmart is between 4 and 5 on a Sunday morning.  Though employees are probably not happy about it.  What few shoppers are there have the potential of getting in the way of the massive restocking operation.  Still, I prefer to go and maneuver around shelvers than shoppers, with their reckless carts, hundreds of them banging metalic rhythms, whole families three generations deep lingering in the aisles as if they were in a public park where kids run free and noisy, darting in and out, around center aisle standalone premium sales racks.

This early in the morning also meant being the only one (or nearly so) to be in line at checkout and the cashier unhurried, unharried seemed more pleasant in the exchange of small talk and smiles.  Pleasant noncommital socialization, a bit of humanity and connection in the otherwise focused separate worlds.  I like speaking with checkout folks—even if there is no real conversation, just an acknowledged exchange, for some reason I enjoy that.  But now, early trips to Walmart to avoid the chaos of humanity now means missing out on the calming simple exchange as well...no more checkout people that early in the morning, only the self checkout is available. 

Today I forgot to tell the machine (didn’t push the button) that I had brought my own grocery bag.  So I figured I could balance the groceries on the scales, which I did and pretty successfully until the last things—the bananas and the apples and the eggs.  Although everything checked out okay, it wouldn’t give me the total until the attendant came over to help.  She was there before I even realized what had happened.  I also realized at this point that I had my glasses in my mouth so I could see better.  You know what I mean.  See the screen closer up but I’m nearsighted so had to take off my glasses and had nowhere else to put them.

Anyway, attendant lady was suddenly beside me punching in numbers and codes and so forth at lightning speed, I mumbled an apology for forgetting to push the button for my own bag.  She had on a white sweatshirt and had blond hair and red fingernail polish but I would never be able to pick her out in a line-up.  She spoke no words to me, not even in response.  And she was gone out of sight as quickly as she’d darted in.  So even that was not at all any kind of human contact or connection.

As I write this, realizing I’m going to post it, I hear a friend’s voice ringing in my head, and flashes of things I’ve read that back up her comment, one should post what is beneficial to others in order to increase readership.  How-to or self-help stuff.  Or poignant insight.

I get that and I agree and don’t mean really to argue or refuse.  I just don’t have any particular expertise or helpful anything.  At this point, inane reflection is all I’ve got.  Interesting how people can post lovely photographs and we look at them and ooh and ahh...but if we use words they have to be instructive, self-help (if it’s self-help, the old joke goes, then reading someone else’s how-to isn’t self-help...) or how-to...

So perhaps what I’m writing and have been writing means little...just going for the human contact thing...the bit of greeting and exchange...wondering if you have similar appreciation for customer checkout people...over chaotic and mindless shoppers...Later I might walk down town and sit on the bench outside a shop and maybe one or two others will sit with me and maybe we’ll strike up a confab on the way of things and reminisce about the good old days.

cool pix vid...maybe? testing testing 1*2*3*

okay let me know if you can click and watch this...very short.  very very short...just testing the camera...

POSTED ORIGINALLY ON 2.23.13.  TODAY IT'S 3.25.13 AND THE CAMERA IS DEAD.  DO NOT PURCHASE THIS CAMERA---ESPECIALLY NOT ONLINE!!!!  I'M REALLY STEAMED ABOUT IT!!!

nikon coolpix...first try

so i've been wanting a camera---inspired by Julia...and thinking it might enhance the memory sentences but it might ruin them too so we're just going to try it.  so far i LOVE this little camera!  now to try to insert  my first pic...this is of the birdbath in the back garden...when i get home it is dry!  i fill it up and 24 hours later...dry!  anyway let's see if this will work...i've no idea what i'm doing...

well there it is but i want it to follow the writing...guess i have to keep practicing...  yay camera!

late night memory sentence 2.22.13

I should be in bed by now...usually am....

Today arrived my wee camera nikon coolpix!!!  i have played with it, figured out how to access a few things...now will have to go online and download software so i can convert pics and vids...heavy sigh. 

Also my shoes came in the mail!  Dad should work for the CIA or FBI or some other clandestine top security organization...it was WELL WRAPPED and TAPED.  I mean TAPED.  Hilarious.  But the shoes are gorgeous---he did an amazing job of polishing them up and put an air bag packing thingy inside each and they just look like new!  How thoughtful of him to do that!  :o)

Third...so gratifying to see those students deeply moved by "The Crucible."  And deeply disappointing to endure the immaturity of those who do not get it. 

And so it goes...

butterfly flutters by ... memory sentence 2.21.13

First to the dojo as usual, the quiet and absolute serenity encompassed the whole of me---mind, body, spirit.  Green comes in all shapes out there---ferns, grass, leaves of a variety of kind and trees or shrubs.  A gold and black striped butterfly flitted in and around the still foliage.  Striped like the lion fish.  Beautiful.  And I smiled to think of Miriam calling them flutterbies...

memory sentence 2.20.13

The only person reading this blog is me.

This morning was serene and beautiful driving to school.  The sky pale blue---baby boy blue---with pink clouds in strips like pulled strawberry cotton candy...or baby girl pink.  Came up behind Stacy (I think) with her horse trailer.  It was wonderful to drive through the country at sunrise following a horse named Shadow.

calm sustaining...memory sentence 2.19.13

Of all the things to remember from today, an ordinary, busy day with the usual challenges and failures and successes, and along with such fun things as Dad has packed the shoes I left there to mail them to me since I need them when it rains...and that I filed my tax return today YAY...the thing most memorable today is how calm and quiet it is right now. I am sitting on the back porch trying to gather the energy to work on my flash fiction...but I am distracted by the lingering music on a website where I am praying daily with Lent.  The temp is probably about 75 and the sky has billowing dark grey clouds but probably not going to rain.  and nothing is moving.  There is no breeze whatsoever.  None.  And this gorgeous harp music is lulling me into a kind of delicious empty-mindedness.  Soon I will have to go find dinner...but right now, this music!  It inspires me to study how to put links on the blog...but until then, check out www.sacredspace.ie and click on the daily prayer...and when it comes up, notice at the bottom the speaker icon...when it shows the X over it, it is on...and it is hynoptic...delicious...

as for the Lenten reflection...the Scripture today is about prayer and the exhortation not to heap up empty words as the Gentiles do...my "lectio" then is about the power of words...the importance of choosing carefully...especially in prayer where perhaps it is better to BE than to speak...

No whining! memory sentence 2.18.13

Running errands with Mama :o).

Watching the first pilot episode from "Mission: Impossible!" from 1966 with Dad :o).  The best part is the opening sequence and soundtrack!!!  Love that!  We agreed that our memory of the series was far more cool and intriguing/mesmerizing/height of suspense than it was in reality.  Isn't that interesting?  I remember it being riveting.  Oh and he said, "Look at Barbara Bain. What an easy job! All she has to do is sit there looking pretty and smoke a cigarette."  I said, "Easy?  You try sitting there looking that pretty smoking a cigarette."  Got a good laugh out of him for that one!

On the way out of town, I decided to stop in the bathroom at the main building near the guard gate before hitting the road--glad i did too because there was an old guy kinda stuck in the door of the men's room because the doors are too heavy to keep open and get out of when you're that unsteady on your feet.  I asked if I could help and he said, "Yeah.  Would you hold this door open for me so it won't hit me in the butt?" And I said, "Sure! Dang, this is a heavy door," and he said, "It's a great door except that it doesn't really let you get out."  So I held the door for him---pulled the walker to the door way---it was in the hall. What I LOVED about him was that he was so matter of fact about it all.  I asked if I could help and he told me what I could do and then he focused completely on his walking---he was exceedingly slow and just moved each foot about a centimeter at a time, so deliberate with each movement, but he didn't apologize for needing help and he didn't apologize for being so slow---i LOVE that!!! Just went about his business and did what he had to do and that was so refreshing!  No whining!  No apology.  I learned a valuable and empowering lesson of freedom. No apologies and no whining!  Even if we need a little help, even if it might be seen as an inconvenience.  It's not.  It's okay to do what has to be done and appreciate what people contribute to help.

memory sentence sat...2.16.13

no memory sentence yesterday because i was gone from before sun up to way after sun down ... now at mama's.  So...i have three memories to record (I decided not to write one about the back roads on the island to avoid traffic and coming up on a speed trap for locals...).

1) The osprey along the bridge by the gulf like to stand on the posts from time to time.  Today, one perched with a fish the size of my hand pressed down under his talon.  The osprey was tearing at its head.  The coloring of its head looks like the mask of a bandit in an old western.

2) We watched an enormous SYSCO food service truck do a three-point-turn in a relatively small parking lot with cars parked like a fringe along the edges.  It was a beautiful demonstration of highly experienced driving.

3)  Dad has a car he loves and cannot part with.  He's tried for about four years.  Today it was nearly out of gas so I drove with him to the end of the big lane toward near where we'd turn off to go to lunch so he could park it and Mama would drive us to lunch and drop him after to get gas. They live in a wonderful retirement area but the past few years going on way too long have been financially difficult for everyone...  We got in the car and he was praising the virtues of the car.  It's an oldsmobile torfeo that is just this side of completely falling apart.  i couldn't tell you the last time the radio/dvd player worked, and inside he has a windshield shade that he got for a really good deal that drops fuzzy stuff all over the place.  It has rained inside so many times that the leather interior is dried out and stain splotches all over the dash and...it was once a glorious car, I admit.  But for Mama and me, we've never really enjoyed driving it because it has a horrific blind spot on both sides of the sideviews.  As he was energetically taking out the windshield shade and, as I said, pontificating on how fabulous the car still is, I said, "This car has seen better days."  He interjected with a totally different tone under his breath, "Everything in this neighborhood has seen better days."  Sorry this memory sentence is so long and will not resonate with anyone like it does with me as a kind of "inside joke"...

One Billion Rising...in the classroom

Exhausted.  For many reasons—one major reason is all the anticipation and then execution of the One Billion Rising dance.  The backdrop of which was absolute torrential rain, the bulb in my ceiling projector went out and can only be changed by maintenance which took half an hour to figure out and put into the works, and my underestimating (forgetting) how utterly self-conscious seventeen year olds are.  Most of them simply would not dance.  Odd.  They seem so uninhibited otherwise. 

This shift in tone for the day (though we still had our class work afterward) seemed to throw a few students off to the point of behavior issues.  That was a bigger disappointment than the self-conscious inability to participate in the dancing.

At this high school, we have a small population of extreme developmental needs students and I invited them to join us for the “official” dance at noon.  That was a great experience to have them integrate and mix with us to dance our solidarity to end violence against women and girls world wide.  Again, on a cognitive level, how much did they understand seems less important than that they were included. 

How much my own students fully understand is also unknown.  I can only hope that a door was wedged open even just a little bit, and that an increasingly bright light is shining through which may one day expand into interest and involvement and a heart to change the world for the better....

During the earlier classes this week in preparation, one student made the connection that dance brings unity because it means we are all on the same level, there is no hierarchy—especially if we hold each other’s hands, then we are all the same.  Another student recognized how dance symbolizes freedom.  In one level (3 classes) we’re studying “Dancing at Lughnasa” by Brian Friel and connections were made between the whole world dancing together to make a change whereas in Friel’s play the sisters are dancing in the figurative representation of their ultimate unity, unaware that it will be their last “dance” before everything in their lives will change (1936 Ballybeg, County Donegal).  In the other level (4 classes) we’re studying “The Crucible” by Arthur Miller, which brings to mind how women were viewed by society and the Puritan church, making them more susceptible to being victims in the accusations and beliefs about witchcraft.  Losing their lives as a result is the ultimate violence.

I am moved by the thought that both of these stories are “true” in that they are shaped from actual historical events.  This has given me the opportunity to teach both classes how a story teller has the responsibility (desire as well as tools and techniques) to shape reality into the art of a story—whether it’s a play, a novel, short story, or film—in such a way as to move the audience to feel something, to relate, to learn.  We remember what we feel.  Empathy is born from the pathos of our stories.  This is perhaps becoming more critical in an age when young people are more physically isolated from each other, connecting primarily through social media networks that can be so isolating and engender a false identity, a putting on of a front....  Story, in the world of fiction, is becoming more necessary and more powerful in filling the gap needed to engender empathy and the desire to connect with one another (we just finished “Howards End” by E.M.Forster with that as a major theme, of course) globally as well as locally.  If “safety” is in large part borne of our familiarity and connection in community then learning more about each other through story engenders that safety, creates the resonant feelings that connect us.

Another connection for me personally to the One Billion Rising is the connection already mentioned earlier about Valentine’s Day and the show of love through taking a stand in solidarity.  Also, it is the first day of Lent, the first day of the celebration of coming Spring.  What better day to speak up world wide in dance to say enough is enough—time to insist on a change that will bring new life, new hope, new days free of the fear of violence.

So all in all, I guess it was a good day—a hopeful day when I reflect on it this way!

memory sentence wed 2.13.13

021313 memory sentence (there are two!!)

Ash Wednesday.  What joy!  Running late this morning I heard the excited chirps and twitter of invisible birds in the garden. In response, I took the time to refill their little bath.  They like to splash...  Would that I could stay and watch (time clock be damned).


Balancing the apple on my yellow notepaper pad while trying to free the beach chair from its precarious position under junk in the trunk proved futile.  Off it rolled, the delicious apple of which I’d had two bites, under the Mazda—dead center.  Twenty minutes later it occurred to me I could just pull the car out...  Oy

memory sentence

Out of 150 seventeen-year-old students today (and yesterday), not one of them knew who Robert Redford is.  Astonishing.

memory sentence mon 2.11.13

three large adults walked by and i heard the one lady, large and heavy with a deep smokers voice say, "well now, don't think of it as getting exercise.  i just hate that.  so you can't think of it like that or it won't work."  they were very slow walkers.   (said the large adult sitting at the patio table who has some sort of blocking device in her brain right now against walking)

moving day (flash fiction)

       The movers would be there first thing in the morning.  Finally getting out of this hell-hole.  What anybody could possibly see good about living in Los Angeles was beyond her.  Packing was therapy—she cleaned out as much as she could.  Not that a lot could accumulate in just two years.  Resentment could accumulate. Being dragged from home to the west coast with two little girls who needed their grandmothers, aunts, uncles and cousins; yeah, resentment definitely needed to be cleaned out before going home.
      “Mama?”  The young voice came from the far end of the house.
“Mama’s a little busy back here.” Her oldest was not yet 9. “What is it, honey?” The dramatic pause should have clued her in to impending disaster.
      The kids had chores—clean out their bedrooms, throw away a third of their things.  Four year old Keri played with her barbies quietly which kept her out from underfoot. Kim’s job was to walk the dogs and pack their stuff, change the cat litter and take her stuff to the neighbor because the cat wasn’t going, and clean the hamster cage. The hamsters were headed to her best friend’s that evening after Dad got home.
“There are pink jelly beans coming out of Snowball and he’s chasing Skipper!  The jelly beans are wiggling all over the cage! Skipper is trying to hide behind the barrel— Snowball ran through the wheel. No!       He just caught him!  He’s tearing him up!  MOM!”
The giant cage filled the small bay window just off the kitchen by the back door.  Skipper and Snowball lived together in a spacious cage, well fed and watered.  Today their usual energetic exercise was a fight.
      Kim, the consummate story teller, hollered to her mother and took the water bottle off the side of the cage, to keep it from leaking any more water everywhere.
“This better not be one of your stories!”  She was seriously not in the mood. “Are you making this up, Kimberly?”
“No ma’am! It’s the truth, I swear! There are wiggling jelly beans—eight of them! And they’re bright pink!” It was a funny sight and it made her laugh.  But she knew it was serious.  Those hamsters were stirring up the shavings into a whirl of smoky cedar.  “Want me to call Dad?” she hollered.  “They’re gonna kill each other in there!”
Mama did not have time for this nonsense. Kim had a penchant for rhetoric and having hamsters was their father’s idea.  Mama stopped what she was doing and stormed from the master bedroom through the house, negotiating packed, stacked and empty boxes like an obstacle course. Kim fidgeted at the hamster cage.
      “There’d better be wiggling pink jelly beans in that cage, young lady.”
Kim stepped aside and gestured toward the cage.
      Mama froze. Who knew female hamsters lose their mind in the chaos of domestic life and try to kill their mate? Suddenly she shifted back into action. “We gotta get Skipper out.” She searched the kitchen for the goldfish bowl.
      Kim frowned at the cage. “I thought they liked each other. I thought they were both boys.  Dad said they were both boys.  Boys can’t have babies.”
      Mama grabbed the goldfish bowl off the trash pile. “Exactly!” she screamed. Her patience had been thinning all day. “This is crazy!” She grabbed a soup ladle off the counter to scoop out poor Skipper who already looked pretty shabby. This was the last straw. “Go call your father!” she snapped. And when I get my hands on him I’m gonna scratch his eyeballs out!

a better way to love each other feb 14

enough is enough.  every time i turn on npr or watch international news all i hear is the latest attack on women in this world.  this world.  2013.  there are those who would have us believe this is the age of the woman.  and yet 25% of women in china are victims of domestic violence according to npr.  silent victims of domestic violence because the govt refuses to acknowledge it, much less stand against it.

enough is enough.  women who have been trying to stand alongside men for the last few years in places like egypt are being attacked and brutally raped by men who disagree with their political beliefs.  men and women who volunteer to infiltrate the demonstrations to help protect women brave enough to take a stand are themselves being attacked.  this violence is sanctioned by the current govt.

in india, as you know, women in india have been violently treated for far too long.  two days ago...http://dawn.com/2013/02/06/indian-woman-attacked-with-metal-bar-in-rape-bid-police/

the stories come from all over the globe.  even in our own democratic nation with laws that protect women, the abuse continues.  violence against women is common place. 

time to shift the focus.  Eve Ensler (Vagina Monologues), Debbie Allen (choreographer) are inciting a riot of dancing to rise up and sing out against the insane continuing violence all over the world.  February 14 is the target date---a new way to look at an old date.

i confess with great sorrow that i was alerted to this fabulous movement about a week ago but have done nothing...  now i wish i'd hooked in sooner and rallied the school, our women who teach together there and the men who teach with us, our students who need to recognize their power in the world and our need of them to make better choices and see clearly what the world is up to and what they can do to change it.  i'll be speaking of it next week in my classes ...  i was disheartened to learn on the www.onebillionrising.org website that there is no group with 100 miles of my little town....

my deepest apologies for not passing along this event sooner.  please check it out:

http://ncronline.org/node/43911/

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fL5N8rSy4CU

thank you Miriam, Joanne, Joan Chittister, Eve Ensler, 1billion rising, paxchristi and all who are involved in being the change we want to see in this world (we miss you Gandhi)
 

The Lord Giveth and the Lord Giveth Again (flash fiction)

020213

Fresh snow frosted the small windowpane of her bedroom. She awoke late, at 7:30, the morning that began her eighty-fifth year. Last night, she’d given herself permission to sleep in, risking missing morning prayers, Mass and even breakfast with the rest of the community.  Her intention was sincere in honest ambivalence–“if the Lord wants me at morning prayer, the Lord will see to it I awake in time.”
As always, the Lord had other plans.
Before rising from beneath warm, cozy blankets, enjoying blessed solitude, anticipating a first cup of coffee in rare silence, she realized the sisters would be on their way to Mass.  Suddenly she was taken by a vision. Eighty-five years ago this minute she would just be approaching five hours old, hairless in wrinkled pinky flesh, writhing with hunger for her mother’s milk, elixir of life.  Her first communion in the intimacy of the first family bonding as God so ordained.  What awesome wonder!
January could chill through to the bone in Oklahoma’s panhandle. Transporting back to that moment collapsed time and space, to the sights, smells and sensations of her first hours on earth.  The sticky warmth of her mother’s body against her flesh, the warmth of milk coursing down her throat, the low sounds of her father’s voice in comment of adoration.  What wondrous love is this?  The gift of sight extended as she imagined her beloved brothers, then two and four, rubbing their eyes, hair the color of dry corn husks askew with fresh waking. Silently they came alongside their mother to peek at their new sister; gently touching the quilt over their mother’s leg, her arm, astonished at the magical sight of this baby appearing out of the darkness, out of their dreams.  What glorious delight to see them so young, flanked by the older three siblings.
The moment passed briefly as moments do in life and memory, but the joy and gratitude sustained her in giggles and renewed energy.  “Happy new year, Miriam!” she said aloud to herself—grabbed her robe to venture down the hall for coffee, her morning prayers fulfilled.