Running, Running, Running, and Yet...
Good morning it is Saturday and finally Fall...hurray! Today we go to the Salvation Army to find a blue suit for Jack to wear to complete his George Bush outfit for Halloween. Must also send out payment for both parts of Little Missy's costume..she is Mario the video game plumber...sigh. How I wanted something beautiful like a princess. Them days are gone. So much to do...Binder a nightmare yesterday and I ended up working late to get everything faxed out to approp. court branches by deadline. We all got raises...50 cents an hour more...gonna go out and buy that Porsche now. Must get in shower and go do multiple chores...when all I want to do is sip coffee and write. Also must arrange Mr. Jack's birthday movie party. He wants the movie to be Sarah something or other and the Paranormal Hour. Picturing my nemesis the perfect mommy Regina saying "Oh, that's too dark for my boys" blah! I have volunteered to organize Kate's class Halloween party...have been told a craft is necessary...I am screwed! Craft suggestions welcomed. What I realize is that for all the craziness of the everyday, the kids, and even me, are happy. Wolf at the door has taken a vacation.
Happiness
There's just no accounting for happiness,
or the way it turns up like a prodigal
who comes back to the dust at your feet
having squandered a fortune far away.
And how can you not forgive?
You make a feast in honor of what
was lost, and take from its place the finest
garment, which you saved for an occasion
you could not imagine, and you weep night and day
to know that you were not abandoned,
that happiness saved its most extreme form
for you alone.
No, happiness is the uncle you never
knew about, who flies a single-engine plane
onto the grassy landing strip, hitchhikes
into town, and inquires at every door
until he finds you asleep midafternoon
as you so often are during the unmerciful
hours of your despair.
It comes to the monk in his cell.
It comes to the woman sweeping the street
with a birch broom, to the child
whose mother has passed out from drink.
It comes to the lover, to the dog chewing
a sock, to the pusher, to the basket maker,
and to the clerk stacking cans of carrots
in the night.
It even comes to the boulder
in the perpetual shade of pine barrens,
to rain falling on the open sea,
to the wineglass, weary of holding wine.
Jane Kenyon
Good morning it is Saturday and finally Fall...hurray! Today we go to the Salvation Army to find a blue suit for Jack to wear to complete his George Bush outfit for Halloween. Must also send out payment for both parts of Little Missy's costume..she is Mario the video game plumber...sigh. How I wanted something beautiful like a princess. Them days are gone. So much to do...Binder a nightmare yesterday and I ended up working late to get everything faxed out to approp. court branches by deadline. We all got raises...50 cents an hour more...gonna go out and buy that Porsche now. Must get in shower and go do multiple chores...when all I want to do is sip coffee and write. Also must arrange Mr. Jack's birthday movie party. He wants the movie to be Sarah something or other and the Paranormal Hour. Picturing my nemesis the perfect mommy Regina saying "Oh, that's too dark for my boys" blah! I have volunteered to organize Kate's class Halloween party...have been told a craft is necessary...I am screwed! Craft suggestions welcomed. What I realize is that for all the craziness of the everyday, the kids, and even me, are happy. Wolf at the door has taken a vacation.
Happiness
There's just no accounting for happiness,
or the way it turns up like a prodigal
who comes back to the dust at your feet
having squandered a fortune far away.
And how can you not forgive?
You make a feast in honor of what
was lost, and take from its place the finest
garment, which you saved for an occasion
you could not imagine, and you weep night and day
to know that you were not abandoned,
that happiness saved its most extreme form
for you alone.
No, happiness is the uncle you never
knew about, who flies a single-engine plane
onto the grassy landing strip, hitchhikes
into town, and inquires at every door
until he finds you asleep midafternoon
as you so often are during the unmerciful
hours of your despair.
It comes to the monk in his cell.
It comes to the woman sweeping the street
with a birch broom, to the child
whose mother has passed out from drink.
It comes to the lover, to the dog chewing
a sock, to the pusher, to the basket maker,
and to the clerk stacking cans of carrots
in the night.
It even comes to the boulder
in the perpetual shade of pine barrens,
to rain falling on the open sea,
to the wineglass, weary of holding wine.
Jane Kenyon
posted by MJ at 10:02 AM
4 Comments:
regina can bite my big white a**
love
the dark one
LOL! Hurray for dissing perfect Regina...I called her today re party and our hellos were like Newman and Jerry's.
I love the head gear on that mannequin! Once, when I picked your son up from a play date at Regina's house, I was afraid to step inside because it was so freakishly clean in her livingroom. Weezer Sr. rules and Regina drools!
Craft suggestion: Totem building project using paper bags from the grocery store. Each kid gets a paper bag and draws a totem image on it. Afterwards the bags are stuffed with newspaper and folded and taped shut at the bottom (only tricky part is getting the fold to be square like at bottom), and the kids break up into groups to pile their totems on top of each other. The other suggestion is a magic socks project. Each kid gets a pair of tube socks to decorate with a certain animal motif, than they all put their socks on to become that animal and dance their character in a circle.
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