A Name is a Name is a Name (?)
I’ve found that the mundanities of teaching quickly and quietly bleed a name of its import.
I’ve found that the mundanities of teaching quickly and quietly bleed a name of its import.
As readers might recall from Season 1 and Season 2, I’d allowed podcasts to become a steady burble of background noise flowing through my waking, non-working hours.
There are other surmised explanations for the rooster’s place on church steeples, but this account seems the most plausible to me.
There is something about watching people pick out spaghetti sauce, and knowing they will cook and eat a meal together, leave dirty dishes in a sink together, that makes me ache.
So much of poetry is naming things.
When I get a job, I will have a brand-new wardrobe to match my brand-new job. I’m not sure where all these new clothes will come from, but most likely Olivia Pope’s closet.
I know which cashier is the fastest, which one is the nicest, and which one packs my reusable grocery bags like her own personal Tetris championship.
My students rarely say “no,” however. They say “It’s difficult” or “I’m tired,” because from their perspective they are trying.
I didn’t know how to write about a rain jacket on Palm Sunday after forty-four people died in their churches.
When you start to recognize people and places, and you start to be recognized, you start to feel home. Re-cognize—from the Latin cognoscere, “to know.” To re-know, or to know again.