Every so often I explore,
like an archeologist:
I drill down, down,
dig back in time,
recall how I heaped
one passion upon another.
The top crust is like a brulee,
thin and easy. But eureka—
Here’s where I thought I should read more novels.
Here’s where I wanted to knit better.
Here’s the parenting section,
when a stomping toddler drove me desperate.
Here’s where I graduated,
resolved to be a Good Scholar.
Here’s where I got knocked over
by a wave of musical nostalgia.
So much hope and good intention,
layer after layer of it,
then it stops abruptly.
Guess the inner core will remain unexcavated;
No more map, and the shovel would melt.
—
Spent much of the day getting organized, including “excavating” my inbox, both paper and computer. Also cleaned up an Amazon wish list that goes back more than six years. Was also riffing off (or ripping off) this poem: “Unwise Purchases” from yesterday’s Writer’s Almanac.
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Asides
» The latest on SBJ: at one year, he weighs 30.5 pounds (99%), is 32 inches tall (97%) and is 100% cute.
» I have been remiss in posting SBJ’s latest stats: 23 pounds and 27 inches at six months. Yes, I’ve got the big mama biceps.
» Aaaaaand little she-who-is lost another tooth this week!
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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
I have sets of journals covering nearly 40 years (I started as teenager!) that once in awhile I go back over. What’s amazing is the thin golden thread that runs through the years like a underground stream.
i used to write “if i should die before i wake, toss my journals in the lake” at the beginning of each journal. now i’ve gone through and blacked that out.
don’t know if my husband or children/grandchildren would ever want to read what i’ve written after my death, but i want them to at least have “permission” to read if they wish.
Of course the really interesting excavation would be a list of all the books I’ve actually bought during that time, in chronological order, rather than those that simply languished on the list.
Which reminds me that a few weeks ago I went to buy a book called “The Practice of Poetry: Writing Exercises from Poets Who Teach,” and Amazon popped up a little thing that said, “You purchased this book in 2002.”
Sure enough, there it was on my shelf.
You know you have too many books when…
no such thing as too many books…
I’m with Mamala…