The sea was cold today. I sat upstairs, the ferry’s engine rumbled; as we floated back turning toward open water I felt the icy spray. I admire how gulls light on the surface bobbing with ripples and crests, unmoved and unimpressed. They have the good life but what about the rest?
It causes me to consider.
Creationism at it’s worst; splitting the atom – creation energy in a tube – all impressive. I remember don’t eat of this fruit, you’ll make yourself a god knowing good and evil and be exiled from the garden. Respect, knowing and forms make the garden that I see. Am I alone? Doesn’t anyone agree?
The sea is rough as well as cold; icy spray refreshes from thought. Dolphins swim along side laughing out loud at the cloudy sky; the junction where currents collide impress them not as they dance. I watch. Thoughts become present again.
Brutalized by students. They act out, they cheat, they reason, “we’re legion and she’ll never know, we can get away with crime” or at least it is in their mind but why would one want to loot in the dark? Why is the aspiration to outwit what’s right, because it can’t see? But, it can. They don’t know me. Yet there’s no victory if I identify each one. Did I prevail? No though I asked their help, they directed me. I paid for their responsibility, for the responsibility of the higher ranking than me as far up as the principal and here I sit. My heart aches, is heavy, and I wonder if I should have let them rule the day accepting my fate. But, I’m a teacher. I thought it was my job, to guide, to teach, to show the right way. Let’s make your teacher happy who’s gone these couple days. Let her see how much you can do, your commitment, the contract… I’m exhausted.
I hope life goes on. What an awful way to feel.
Bennett said Nietsche is dead, God remains, but Nietsche’s writings remain too his spirit present, his thoughts survive. Now what do we do? The ferry has docked; I think I’ll walk and get a fish sandwich to go with an espresso to take the chill; then up to a top floor and rooftop café overlooking the city above fog, pollution and mist. What can I say? Even cloudy it can be a good day.
I had a dream
You walked up to me and I was surprised
What are you doing here as we embraced
Where were we you know how dreams can be
It didn’t matter
It was just good to see you
All so clear as you looked at me
Then I woke with a start. Twenty minutes had passed since the alarm rang. It could’ve been worse but as I looked at the cell an expletive slipped out. Up I leapt, into the shower I darted scrubbing myself triple speed though thorough. Running around in my towel I completed the morning routine, every last thing. Even grabbed stragglers left behind in the dryer to fold, am I insane, I had no extra time to spare but I did it anyway besides weeding clothing out of a dresser drawer to contribute elsewhere as I organized socks. Someone stop me! Into new shoes, am I insane again, but I couldn’t resist the thought of dry feet for a change instead of suede soaking up dew as I crossed under the overpass. One of the last things I decided on was a pair of sandals in case these hurt for any reason, so smart this time around. Realizing I needed a little something to eat to get me through the day I threw yogurt and an apple into my small travel pack, grabbed fingerless gloves ran toward the front door and another expletive slipped. I’d forgotten to fold up blankets and store pillows so the couch could be a couch again glad I was too lazy to open the Castro the night before. As I ran passed the clock on the way out, well, that was utterance the third, but at least I’m on my way. No! The cell was still plugged into the wall. I spun around, fumbled with the key at the door in the morning still dark now gritting my teeth, “I don’t need this”, grabbed it and the charger, gently pulled the door closed for the last time and off I almost ran in a shot. This was definitely going to be good cardio and me.
The shoes worked, my feet stayed dry and didn’t hurt me as I strode. Don’t ask how but I reached the cappuccino stop the same time I always do and was early as I usually am at my destination. Thanks time for standing still. I told the secretary “I don’t know how I managed this. I remember thinking I’d better get up before I fall back to sleep then lifted my head 20 minutes later.” Getting organized in my room I took a moment and sent a text, “I had a dream about you and it was so clear. I gave you a big hug and asked what you were doing here. You told me something to do with business but Jersey?”
And so my day began grinning ear-to-ear.
“93, almost a century but it’s still me.” She stood facing herself in the mirror in her comfy sweats and over-sized shirt. “Always loved men’s flannels – like wearing soft protective arms.” Never had she known such arms yet she was still a believer. “Ben’d said his most productive years were his 90s. It could still happen.”
She gave herself the once over, hair pure white now. “Take that Storm! Hmm, could I really wear that? I used to.”
Sweats and shirt dropped to the floor. On went the jeans and deep v’d blouse. “Hell yeah.” She grabbed her fringed Gucci bag and headed out.
The prompt this week is:
…could I really wear that …
Staring at the wall she could detect heat, those ripples it makes when it’s intense, but she couldn’t detect the source that should’ve been beneath it. Where was it coming from? She looked around the room. Illogical. The heat should have originated under the ripples. She looked at them again, pondering heat reflecting on the wall like shadows cast on the side of rock at a bonfire, then caught sight of the ceiling fan from the corner of her eye. The lights were turned down in the classroom for planning time, for peace, for pretending she wasn’t there; the shadow was thanks to the natural light coming through the window. Mystery solved she looked at the wall only impressed at how it still looked like heat ripples but when her attention was averted ever slightly it could clearly be seen the turning fan was casting a reflection, a shadow in motion.
Sometimes life cries out for a nice break from the daily routine ...... a pie break, a taste of sweetness.
"The secrets to life are hidden behind the word cliché" - Shay Butler
Musings of a retired but not retiring woman.
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