31 May 2020

Today's Verse

I haven't written a whole lot in the last few months. Teaching online has taken most of my attention. (I'm busier all day at my computer than when I was in the school building--or so it seems, at least.) 

But no matter whatsoever else is happening in my life--even administering school library services online to 350 students and families during a pandemic--I compose a poem every year just for today, May 31st.

I wish my wonderful wife a Happy Anniversary.

May each year's verse continue onwards and ever truer.

Picture of a picture from twelve years ago.

28 April 2020

Pizza Night

Like much of the rest of the world, we're all staying close to home. And like so many others, we're doing our best to keep on keepin' on.

Tonight, we're all about "homemade pizza."

With a boost from Jiffy Pizza Crust Mix, a few sprigs of fresh spinach straight out of the garden, a thorough scouring through the icebox for cheeses and meats, everyone made their very own pizza pie!

 Thumbs up and gulps down!

Anyhow, after a couple of scares early on, we're doing all right now--healthy and humble, hoping folks are able to make the best of their circumstances and wishing everyone well!

25 March 2020

No Day

A month ago, I was wondering whether a teacher would or would not wish for a snow day.

I know of no teacher who would rather not be at work right now.

Least of all my wife, sick in bed.

03 February 2020

Snow Day

Working at a school, I find that a snow day brings out two kinds of colleagues: those who cheer for a day off, with no thought of when they'll have to make it up - OR - those who see no joy in being buried in a blizzard and are already griping about having to work an extra day tagged onto the end of the year with beautiful summer on its way.

So I suppose, at the depth of it all, a Snow Day seems to shine a light on a person's philosophies on life:
live for the present or live for the future.

Which might you live by? 


29 January 2020

One After Another

I have a handful of pieces fanned out on my writing desk--just a couple of poems and short stories. But each one has me sliding into my chair every evening, excited to keep exploring where the words will take me. I expect to be working on most of them through the rest of the season.

However, I also have stack of stories and poems, a full inch worth of paper thick, sitting on my computer desk, all ready to be typed into final drafts. That is the stack that has me hurrying to my writing room. I stand on the verge of a productivity burst, the likes of which I have not enjoyed in ages. All I have to do is keep knocking each piece out, verse by verse.

I almost hate to keep fending off the urge to start a new novel.