One week later, the playhouse still sits on the side of the road, forlorn and forgotten.
Cars rush by, too busy to see its sorrow as it awaits its fate. Will it sit on the side of the road forever, until the plastic turns brittle and crumbles under the oppressive summer sun? Will someone eventually take it home, try to put the pieces back together, show it the love it hoped for in the first place? Will it find its way into the nearby woods, destined to become a home for raccoons?
Only time will tell.
It seems that often people don’t notice the same things I do. Sometimes I think I’m a little too observant for my own good. But this week, I noticed something that I don’t think anyone could miss.
On the way into town one evening, we noticed a plastic playhouse. A molded plastic cube that seemed relatively new and in good shape. It sat in the weedy median, on its side and lonely. Its only companions were a red sedan and a puzzled blonde woman.
My husband and I immediately began speculating. How had the playhouse ended up in the median? Had it fallen off of a truck? Had someone left it behind? And, more curious, who was the woman and what did she intend to do with the playhouse? There was no way she could fit it into her tiny car or secure it onto the roof.
We went about our evening, not thinking much about the mystery. But when we returned, the story had taken a new turn.
Even in the darkness, it was easy to see that the red sedan and blonde woman were gone, but the playhouse was still on the side of the road. Now, though, it sat on the other side of the road in pieces. I don’t know what happened to it, but it met a tragic end.
Alas, the playhouse didn’t stand a chance, especially if the woman did indeed try to bring it home on her car.
The sun leans down
to kiss the horizon
before turning off
The end of the school year is a bittersweet time, but this year more so than any other before. Moving from middle school English to high school French means that I have many of my former middle schoolers in my class. This year, a whole batch of my beloved middle schoolers — including several who were in French this year — have graduated.
It’s funny how life works. Watching people grow up and change and realizing one day that they’ve grown into adults. Knowing that they’ll always have a special place in my heart, and being pretty sure they’ll remember me too.
So that’s where I’ve been the last two weeks during my unintentional hiatus. Finishing out a school year and starting to think about the next (because that’s just how teaching works). But now that summer’s here, I’m back.
Earlier this year, I decided to read something by as many of the Inklings as I could. It started off well (with Robert Harvard’s appendix in CS Lewis’ The Problem of Pain.) Then things derailed a little bit.
The end of the school year is always busy, especially when there’s curriculum to review for next year. Unfortunately, that put me off track on the book I had started: Lord Peter Views the Body by Dorothy Sayers.
According to the Kindle, I’m 11% in and was having a good time. Dorothy Sayers writes mysteries — a genre that has always intrigued me, but that I’m not particularly good at.
Clearly, all of the stories about Lord Peter (a detective of sorts) tie together, and I can tell that I’ve come in partway through a series. However, there’s still enough that I know what’s going on — even though I don’t have a full appreciation for the relationships between some of the reoccurring characters.
Now that I’m back to reading what I want to read, I’ll have an update on this book hopefully sooner rather than later.
What are you reading right now? Have you ever heard of Dorothy Sayers or read anything by her?
I love my cat’s sense of curiosity. It sounds cliché, but it’s true.
He’s interested in everything: playing with yarn while I’m crocheting, batting at the fringe on my scarf, watching tv with us.
One of his newest interests is watching me paint. The first time was while I was working on my last painting. (Speaking of which, it’s been too long. Too many busy weekends in a row.) He perched on the arm of the chair and followed my every brush stroke for an unusually long time.
Fortunately, his curiosity hasn’t led him into the paint so far, but I guess we’ll see next time.
I wonder what he thinks of it all as he sits next to me. Does he have any idea what I’m doing? Does he see the pattern of it all? I don’t know, but there’s nothing as wonderful as listening to him purr as he sits against me and watches.
Do you have pets that like to get involved in your activities?
when you were young,
sixth grade, awkward hair,
trying to find yourself.
You were the class clown,
teacher’s pet, quiet one,
queen bee, reflective writer.
I loved teaching you.
Years passed, you grew up,
but you never stopped
smiling at me in the halls,
taking classes just because
I taught them, talking about
the days when you were young.
But now you are grown up
ready to leave these halls,
and I am left feeling old
and wondering if I’ll see you again.
You toss your hat, leave the stage,
leave a special place in my heart.