I Don’t Know What My Title Is

IMG_3949This stretch of boardwalk through the dunes at Asilomar Conference Grounds, Pacific Grove, California is just above the beach [on the right, across the highway].  I think there’s a reason this image is speaking to me at the moment.

My work is proceeding.  Some kids are reading better and some I’m concerned it’s beyond the need for practice for a few, so I’m asking for testing.  There’s a steady tread of tennies on the boardwalk.  Doing the next group and the next thing.  Keeping the flow of new books and records moving along.

Finally the calendar has taken a turn that allows enjoying the scenery a bit more.  I only have three meetings after school this week and am not up against a deadline for a presentation.  It feels like I can breathe a bit and take in the light, even if dimmed by fog.

I remember sitting out on a bench here, writing a poem of heartbreak, remembering several years back.  I talked to the ocean and made metaphors of pain.  Last year when I sat there I didn’t feel very much.  Just quiet.  Watchful.

And today I am more settled, because my mother, my 87 year old mother who lives with me, has secured an appointment with a referred back doctor who will hopefully replete her cortisone treatment that has worn off since she had it back when she lived in SF.  That means that there are only a few more days to the weeks and months of coming home to her in debilitating pain.

Things are going to be smoother, if she gets relief.

I have enjoyed the recent opportunities to support teachers who are giving after school writing intervention sessions, both at my school and a neighboring school in the district.  So there are nice things about sitting quietly on the bench out here by the water, having no big dramas going on.

Who knows what time pinches and demands will be around the bend?  I am enjoying a brief respite.  I even got home with the daylight and pulled weeds by the fistful out of the front yard.  I found the quince flowering amidst all the rampant greenery.  I pulled an entire wheelbarrow full, thinking how fortunate I was to be able to easily harvest some heat for the compost pile.

When one is settled and quiet, the smallest things can be delightful.  It was funny how eagerly I went after the stalks of oxalis (sp?) pulling and piling.  How happy I felt to be out in the daylight playing in the dirt.

And I wonder if there is a point to my rambling semi-story this evening?  I think taht I am realizing that peace and quiet does not equal boredom.  It is lovely to be content and to take in the view when things are an even walk along overlooking the beach.

 

 

 

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