What happens when I leave my children behind? The younger takes up skydiving. I don’t know whether I’m more afraid for her life, or envious. My older wee one, however, is being a model child (well, 30-year-old child) and has even mailed me two actual real tangible letters. I miss my habibee. (I learned that yesterday from my classmate from Baghdad. It’s the plural form of an Arabic term of endearment.)
Last night in my dreams I took some astounding pictures for this blog. However, since my dreams are surreal and filled with desolation, black skies and dead things, be grateful that only I can see them.
From my third-floor window where I’m writing, I see a chipmunk hopping across the mowed grass into the woods like a gazelle. A very small gazelle, and rodent-like in manner.
I’m nearly settled in my apartment, and have surrounded myself with artifacts from Important People: the pillow Anna made me, the tin dog of Bulwinkle’s, my sister’s “Yellowbrick Road” sign, photos of friends, Adi’s Virgin of Guadalupe hanging, Lulu’s miniature Virgin of Guadalupe, Pat’s “Man Shorts” mini-book, Mom’s pots and pans and sheets and stuff, Yo-Nenny’s postcard that reminds me “No U-Turn“…
Here are some Turkish words, and a teacher trying to make us understand them.
The life of a student is hard even on the young: all the frozen food, and then there’s the lack of sleep.
I blurred that subject’s face since I haven’t had a chance to get her permission to put up this photo. Not that more than ten people look at this blog anyway. She zonked out while reading our Second Language Acquisition homework. Today another student fell asleep in the same place doing the same thing.
Though I hate being as busy as I am, with every moment either in class or studying, it helps keep my mind off of homesickness. And the scenery… Every morning when I drive to school I nearly veer off the winding road as I try to take it all in. If it’s starting to get light by then, I usually stop to take pictures.
On the way home, if there’s still light, I do the same. I love the old fallen barn in the distance.
And here’s the view from the foot of the stairs to my apartment.
One last thing for you today: My classmate Moloko from South Africa agreed to sing her national anthem with me this morning. I look hideous but will put up the video anyway. Here you go. It’s a big file so you’ll probably have to hit play and then pause and wait a bit for it to load before it plays without jittering.
[flashvideo filename=wp-content/video/afrika.flv image=wp-content/video/afrika.jpg /]
Love your harmonizing–why can’t our anthem be beautiful? Maybe if you’d share your mailing address you might get old fashioned mail from more than your young daughter, the elder?
since the “type these words” is 13 toffees, I’ll go get some dessert, now.
This blog post has no title. I keep refreshing the page, looking for one.
You take pictures in your dreams? I do that *all the time*. I’m always so disappointed when they’re not on my camera when I wake up.
Wouldja look at the slender wreath of mist in that picture! I may have to steal your Vermonty.
Nkosi sikel’e – pretty. You’re such a man of the world. You look self-conscious, but VERY cute.
Hey, she’s got great vibrato. Very strong and beautiful. You should hang with her more. She will show you how to laugh. Tell Molly that sky diving is dumb. She should learn to fly ultra light aircraft. If she wants to, I can point her where to go. Ultra light still has no restrictions and no licenses with the Feds. It is still a free thing. The Central Valley is a great place to do it. About ten years ago I began taking lessons from a guy up in Petaluma, but then I figured after a lifetime of riding motorcycles and still being alive, I would stick with them and fuck the airplane stuff. Still and all, it seemed a great thing to do. It is quite something to be sitting in a flying chair at 5 or 10 thousand feet. It is only when you near the ground that you realize how temporary life really is. While you are in NE, you must find and visit Ben’s Mill. Google it. Cheerio, Toots.
Also, look up Bob Clawson and Betsy Anne Duval down in Acton, Mass. Invite him up to read. He is very good and says he will even read in Whore Houses and Jack in the Boxes and Methodist Churches even.
That was some good singing. How’d you learn all that with all those other things your learning? Is your brain becoming more sticky?