maritov
I am my beloved and my beloved is mine. The line from the Song of Solomon. The words inscribed on the ring. Andi L'Dodi L'Dodi Li. Loved, beloved; love flows through bodies and minds and connects spirits. That is love.
I am a teacher. This is the core of who I am, and if I look to my history, it is the core of who I was long before I became one. I live to collect knowledge and repackage it for others, to help them find their way to what they need to know to live their lives, even if they don't realize it. Teachers, even when they are called something else (like mothers or masters or guides) are the most central element in perpetuating our culture.
There is a spider living in the corner. Somehow, she gets enough to eat, even though she's inside a house with new and well-sealed windows. She gets so much to eat, in fact, that she's made two large egg cases--a bit larger than a chickpea, I'd say. Sometime, these egg cases will split open, and the dozens of tiny spiders inside will spill out and fill the house. But I can't imagine there is enough for all of them to eat.
My grandmother has a habit of forgetting. She forgets when people help her, and complains that she has been abandoned and is alone. She forgets when people mistreat her, and instead puts them on a pedestal. You might think this forgetting is the path of old age winding through her brain, but it isn't. It's a lifelong habit that doesn't impede her memory of Yankees games or crossword puzle answers, just her memory of who matters.
The neighbors across the street just had their house repainted. It used to be kind of a dull brown, and now it is a bright light grey, which is a little garish to my taste but he said it isn't noticeable. They made the door red--why does everyone do that?--and the trim white. It was quite noisy, what with the giant metal ladders for several days. Plus the cars were parked on the wrong side of the street, where parking is prohibited.
Plaid is a dog, a beagle to be exact, who works at a pet-supply store after which s/he is named. Plaid has a sibling named Stripe, whose name also makes up part of the store's. The stuff they sell is a bit overpriced and doesn't quite meet my needs (more useful if you want seasonal leashes or meat-laden biscuits), but the dogs are worth the trip.
The radio seems to be an archaic technology, what with the smart phone and the internet and the cable TV and even XM. Yet we all still have them, in our cars at least, and it's hard to imagine what would replace their role in weather forecasts and emergency alerts. Still, I miss the 24-7 traffic and weather from the big city. Every place should have a station that does that, to preserve the essential core of what the radio is and can do.
The limo gleamed in the moonlight as the dark-suited driver helped her step into the cavernous space. Her silver heel caught on the threshold, but she righted herself and slid onto the supple seat, arranging her sapphire skirts around her. LED lights twinkled like a planetarium ceiling.
My backpack is light right now, only the notebook and the detritus of normal life. Not like the semester, when it is filled with books and binders and papers to grade, ice cleats to help me survive the frosted parking lots, mail and media and everything else. Light in materials, and light in life--that is the summer.
A montage of photographs, memories perhaps;
Carefully arranged with frames that closely match.
They tell the story of a life lived well--
Of love, of laughter, of miracles...
This montage...
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