Aunthood
What is she thinking? You hope she approves of you. You touch her nose, her thin eyebrows, her fuzzy black hair. You trace her perfect ears.
What is she thinking? You hope she approves of you. You touch her nose, her thin eyebrows, her fuzzy black hair. You trace her perfect ears.
Perhaps what I question most is the emphasis that both “medical science” and faith healing place on the disappearance of symptoms in individuals rather than communities.
So teachers, don’t expect that your kids will tell you in fifteen years how you teaching them to carry the one deeply affected their lives.
It wasn’t so much that I was worried about my own ability to navigate the hazards of the trail, but that I did not trust anyone else—and generally for good reason.
How can a person as unorganized and untidy as I am simultaneously be so anal retentive about how to arrange books?
I couldn’t fully articulate this at the time, but I saw a new puppy as a means of gaining control of my life. So much was changing, and I felt like I was being left behind.
Bridges I have aplenty. What I crave is intersections. Intersections—those moments of synchrony, of serendipity, of crazy coincidence.
But more often than not, I’m surprised at the curiosity and ability of my students. Yesterday marked one of those moments.
The truth of the matter is that homes are much less beautiful without bookshelves packed full of books. They decorate the nooks and crannies of homes with artful spines and interesting thoughts.
This year is a different story. Now I’m the teacher. While I got through my first year of teaching, every time I get asked the question, “How did your first year go?” I answer, “Really hard.”