Monday morning we started the week with a little earlier schedule. Ray is supposed to have office hours every day from 9:30, in case students want to talk to him. It also avoids arriving late to class (maybe) and having things come up at the last minute to be stressful. Yesterday, we did get there about  9:30. Then I went to the post office in Add Drugs and mailed off the directory in the Priority Mail envelope Olan Mills had given me. $5.10. It didn't seem worth trying to figure out how to get the Fellowship to reimburse me, so I just paid it.

Then I went to Marguerite's house on Annes Court, near where we used to live on Milledge Heights. It was a lovely sunny day, just a bit cool for sitting outside for an extended period. We admired her yard, with an abundance of arugula and some crocus blooming. She also had a beautiful renovation done to the house (a few years ago), adding a gorgeous kitchen with skylights and opening up the rest of the house. There were 6 of us and our topic was bounty--not just physical, but mental, emotional and spiritual bounty. This follows our last topic of grace. I could see it as just another reminder to appreciate what I have. But it was really more positive and helpful than that. One of the points for me is if you do something to share your bounty, but you resent it, that's not bountiful. (maybe not literally true, but probably a good thought. It should make you feel good.) I found that I wanted to talk a lot and dominate the conversation. I had to consciously hold back and listen. I enjoyed it very much.

A little after noon, I drove to ALT and heated up my leftovers for lunch. I reviewed the HUD counseling application, typed up my notes from the OneAthens meeting last week, and the Fund-raising meeting we had Friday morning. I am starting to feel a little more at home there.

I was at Ray's office a little before 5 and he came out a few minutes later. We made supper, listening to music on Pandora, and ate it. Then I spent some time writing while he was working, before we watched a little TV and went to bed.

After Supper

Alone with my thoughts

(although Ray is nearby),

I am sitting in the dark 

writing poetry.

Like the mouse Blink in the poem,

who “strategically mouseholed”

when faced with danger, 

I think I am safe.

In the dark and the quiet,

with only the sound of a machine—

it's the fan on my hard drive. 

The dark is comfortable.

I am hiding

until the scary things 

go away.

Will it work?

Me with my laptop and the fan 

in here in the dark

(and Ray… and the dog

… and the world outside).

Thoughts come and go quickly.

The computer 

lets me capture them,

in the dark.

I catch them to put in this machine

before they get away.

Some make it to freedom,

but most I harvest.

I wonder if the best ones

are the ones that escape.

Am I right to stop them,

Can I catch time?

 

My children are in this machine, too,

their voices on Skype,

their photos and videos and words.

Their music and news of their friends.

They don’t live here any more.

Their rooms are clean and empty.

Enticing me to open the door 

and look in.

I find reasons to visit there

and enjoy seeing the detritus 

of their old lives

tidied up.

Like the outgrown shell 

of the hermit crab

or the chrysalis 

of the butterfly.

Out in the dark yard,

I close the chicken coop.

(I should have done it 

earlier.)

The hens make soft noises,

chiding me gently 

for disturbing them.

They feel safe.

Are they trusting me

to protect them?

Aided by the young dog, 

Cameron?

Will he know if a prowling skunk

comes to invade their safety,

And barking, send it away,

slinking back into the darkness?

A wire cage with a tin roof 

and a perch

is not much protection,

unless it is home.