Wondering why . . .

So my best intentions desire to add to this space every few days since so many amazing, noteworthy things happens constantly; where did that go? . . . How can the truth and simplicity of Thoreau's "going to the woods to live deliberately, to front the essentials of life" and the daily thrills of joy I feel in a life I love, swirling in my brain, setting my intention every morning, get so bogged down; no, GROUND down by the demands of end-of-the-year at school that I find myself all week operating merely by rote, numb, buzzing with irritation, this me-who-is-not-me grading, reminding, directing, feeling their confusion at my manner in the eyes of students whom I love but can't wait to get rid of?

I got off the phone from disappointing Larry by declining to join him is Salt Lake for dinner with his girls, leaned out my kitchen window and silently watched my honey locust tree grow, all green and glowing amd quiet. I don't know how long I stood there, craving silence and a long stretch of doing nothing. It was delicious. And I thought, "Does God every get tired? Does he, disillusioned with the way things are going down here, ever just want the afternoon off to zone out?" We all need Him so much; how does that not wear on Him? So I'm pondering the thought that what I'm missing is the middle of the seesaw. A subtle balance with little shifts instead of these big work-like-crazy then collapse-from-exhaustion swings that I do now, going from the jarring bump on one side to the same thing on the other. I'll have to ask about God getting tired to Laura Willette tomorrow in speech; she is surprisingly and weirdly wise.

For now, I'm posting pictures that I love from Rachel's camera . . .

. . . a (fast) glimpse of literary mecca . . .

Larry and I have a great side job; a performance tour company makes all the travel arrangements for a group and then we "manage" the actual trip, have fun with the kids, share some history, see new sights and get paid for doing it. So last week we were leading a tour in the Boston area, and on our last full day, as we loaded the bus from Salem to head through Lexington and Concord, it hit me.
"You mean, we're going to THE Concord?" I asked the tour guide.
"Yes, but we'll just drive through and stop for a few minutes at the Old North Bridge."
"What??!!" I'm thinking to myself. Since first reading Walden by Thoreau at eighteen and because of all my encounters in literature and history with the Transcendentalists, Concord has loomed large in my imagination as a sort of Mecca of the literary and philosophical world, as important to American thought as the Athens of Socrates, Plato and Aristotle is to world thought. And here we were, approaching this place, but because no one on the bus cares much about Emerson and his friends, we were going to drive right through!
This was unacceptable! I wouldn't drag the kids into my obsession, but we departed from the itinerary as I made the bus stop at Orchard House, the home of Louisa May Alcott and her forward-thinking father, Bronson Alcott, so I could run in for five minutes and at least buy a few books about the area and the famous residents. Coming out, I could see nestled off the the side The Chapel with a little sign "School of the Philosophers." I'm hurrying past the place where the Transcendentalists met to discuss everything under the heavens, but I have a bus waiting. It was a painful moment.
Luckily, the books I purchased haven't disappointed as I've immersed myself in their times and thought, and Larry is interested enough from what I've told him to propose that the next time we're back East, we need to stay in Concord for a few days, rent some bikes to see the area and tour the many homes ans places in which this philosophy blossomed and still affects us today. No glimpses then, but time to walk the same paths, enjoy the same rooms, and soak in what Concord has to offer.