A good kind of tired

My mum-in-law was in the ER tonight--she's OK and she's back home now.
But never take a single breath for granted.

A classroom carrot

Drifting towards the end of another year with the usual deep-bone tiredness that comes from believing one's work matters, a reasonable trade-off.

Before the year ends, I will take my lambs out with shovels and pots, and we shall collect "baby trees," which amaze my students and, truth be told, amaze me as well. I'm betting at least a few of the saplings will outlast me, and I'm praying one will carry my soul to the next generation as my now aged student tells the story of her tree to her grandchildren.

Helen Keller was close--I think this is closer.....

Before the year ends, I will take my lambs out to sea the sea, to watch the tide rise, to hold horseshoe crabs and sand fleas, to seine the edge of a watery world that extends out to where most of us came from not so long ago.

Before the year ends, I will show my lambs how to plant the beans and the basil and the Brussels sprouts they planted when the nights outlasted the days. My windowsills will again be empty. A student asked me last week if he needed to bring his seedling inside on the days it rains. We're so lost I want to cry.

Before the year ends, I will give my lambs many of the trinkets we've accumulated over the year.  Whelk and clam shells, a few lenses, a home-made Cartesian diver, a stuffed animal or two retiring from their days comforting students halfway between the womb and the first years of  senescence.

Before the year ends I will sing another song or two in class, maybe with the uke, maybe the guitar, but always with joy. I love the company of my kids--and that they matter to me matters to most of them, especially the ones not so sure this human thing is worth all the fuss.

(But it is, it is....)