We’ve had a busy week. I was on fall break and volunteered in Isabella’s school for three days. Man am I ever thankful that I do not teach first grade! You never get to sit down for even a minute because the 29 kids need you to help them with everything. Isabella’s teacher, Mr. Hilton, has a great rapport with the kids and knows just what they need at all times. He does an amazing job with his lesson planning and classroom management, and does this all while speaking Spanish! I was so impressed that the girls, Bruce and I made him the pumpkin cake that’s on this month’s cover of Family Circle magazine. It was shaped like a pumpkin, covered in orange frosting, and had hundreds of M&M’s to make a jack-o-lantern face. I gave it to him on Friday afternoon during the class’s pizza party. He was totally surprised!
Riona and I also made another round of applesauce and I did some “fall cleaning” around the house, just reorganizing things in the kitchen so it’s more efficient for all the company we’re having this Christmas–Bruce’s parents, Donna, David, and the kids! Plus, I had my last poetry group meeting this week, so here is my last poem:
Remnants
I once was that maple
in the front yard
red-leafed and climbable as a child
silver-tinted and clingy as young adult,
but I have handed
my sweet maple helicopters
and swirling leaves to
Isabella, who will carry
the branches farther than I ever imagined
I am becoming the trees of my dreams
where the white horses
linger amongst the native grasses
left there in this remnant
of untouched wilderness
for they are not trees, really,
with those paper thin barks,
the knot holes that hide away
all their lost limbs,
the pale green-to-gorgeous-gold
hearts of leaves that
dance, quivering with
misty mountain breezes
their roots are all connected
with such intricacy
that if one trunk gets chopped
by a violent storm
the internal organism
will wither, fade,
and everything it touches
will turn to dust
but I will not turn to dust
because I am the aspen
of my dreams,
the grove on the side of the slope
that nestles its roots
amongst rocks, grasses,
and remnants of other trees,
nurturing the warmth
of my connected line,
holding, holding, holding on
until my branches
reach farther than I’ve ever imagined.
