this scrap of paper

Sometimes, when I am feeling a little melancholy, I put a sad song on repeat, and as I get sick of the song, I get sick of being sad, too. And so I turn off the song and get happy. Today the song was sad, but so pretty it turned happy as I did. It was a song by Hem and it includes these words:

"Think of every town you've lived in,
every room you lay your head."

68. The house on Kalamazoo.
69. Anita's apartment.
70. The hostel downtown. Two nights, hanging out with Marissa.
71. Bryna's house. The 123 four made it a weekend.
72. Pella for Thanksgiving.
73. At my parent's house in Ft. Collins.
74. The bottom bunk at Hofland's.
75. Inspiration Hills.
76. The couch at Ryan's house, soon after midnight on January 1.
77. The top bunk at Hofland's.
78. The house on Kalamazoo.
79. The plane from O'hare to Heathrow.
80. The plane from Heathrow to Tel Aviv.
81. The kibbutz in the Negev.
82. The kibbutz by the Dead Sea.
83. Christ Church in the Old City of Jerusalem.
84. The kibbutz in the North.
I didn't sleep at the hostel in Tel Aviv, although I had a bed.
85. A little on both of the planes back here.
86. Alumni 123. Still the best suite ever.
87. Dave and Julie's, and I didn't get sick.
88. Dave and Carlene's.
89. Amy's house, between talking until 3:00 in the morning and getting up before 7:00 to bring her siblings to the airport.
90. Nine nights on a different couch at Ryan's house– the couch he set up downstairs so that Grandma/Obaachan wouldn't have to worry about making noise in the kitchen.

"And what is it that you remember?"

Maybe I was feeling melancholy because spring break is over, and I am back at Alumni 123. I'm thinking back to those days when I woke up on that couch to the sun shining past Obaachan's houseplants and Ryan and slurps from his coffee mug. We cooked and walked and read and talked together. We did many things on our list of things to do, but we are not done. And that's fine with me.

"I am carrying this scrap of paper
that can crack the darkest sky wide open–
every burden taken from me,
every night my heart unfolding
my home."

four days of teacher aiding

I'm getting into a rhythm of teacher aiding, and I really like the high school that I am placed at. Today and my three days last week were quite exciting. Last Tuesday, the school was placed on a lockdown. After twelve minutes of sitting along one wall on the tile floor in the dark listening to canines barking in the distance, the intercom let us go back to instruction. Five minutes later they told us it was a drill. On Wednesday, I got a tattoo. Just henna actually, and the stained skin cells are slowly being shed. It was World Languages Week, so there were many multi-cultural activities going on, such as friendship bracelets, an activity to which I was able to lend my junior high expertise. On Thursday, I volunteered to translate for an individualized instruction plan meeting between the special needs teachers and a parent. I can't decide whether I'm more pleased with myself for getting the information back and forth or for volunteering in the first place. The father was very appreciative. Today, I pulled two students out of class to give them some individualized instruction. They both moved here recently from Mexico and were eager for a chance to get out of the English-filled classroom where they felt lost. We read a kids book. I made sure that they knew that I knew that they were not kids. They asked me if they should call me 'tú' or 'usted'. I told them 'tú', and they agreed, because I am not a viejita. I'm not a kid either.

Tomorrow we are going to talk about question words and ourselves and life and the world. I love teaching.

keep on writing

I feel like I can't write right now. I'm totally out of practice. Why can't one of my professors assign a twenty page paper? That would squeeze some journaling out of me, if only as a procrastination technique. But this semester is all about reading fifty pages before the next class.

I have to somehow keep on writing
even when it's not exciting,
because this is somebody's home page.
If you're someday coming home to me
awake is what I want to be–
still writing, with a light on.

So what have I been doing, if I haven't been writing? Here's a quick overview of the semester: The first weekend of the semester I worked ahead on homework, because the next week, Anita came, and a few hours after she went back to her school, Ryan visited for the weekend. The weekend after that, Mom and Dad and Alissa came, and we visited Dave and Julie and then Northwest Illinois. That was a study in anthropology. The next weekend I rejoiced because I passed a history test that lets me take just eighteen credits instead of twenty-one. The next week I started my teacher aiding placement at a nearby high school, and I was able to drive there in a very spiffy car (thanks, fam!).

And this weekend (actually week, but I go more by the sentiment than the calendar) we went to Iowa. Very few times have I gone to Iowa without seeing family. We went to see the brothers at New Melleray monastery. It was a good way to begin Lent. For two and a half days, I had my own private guest room and nothing on my agenda except vigils, lauds, terce, sext, none, vespers, compline, breakfast, lunch and dinner. I spent the time walking the field roads, reading, and trying to journal, and until the way home, I wasn't sure I was getting much out of it. But coming back I realized that I had finally been able to clear enough head space to think again. Hopefully all that thinking will lead to some more writing.