Tryptophan Reflection

This poem was in the New York Times the day after Thanksgiving (along with several other lovely writings on the holiday). I had planned to post it on that day, but could not remember my username to log in and post. So it has taken me until now to finally remember it.

The poem reminded me of our Thanksgiving this year because the Nelsons spent it with us. It was their first Thanksgiving without Gran Nelson and also their first one away from West Virginia. They decided to spend it as differently as possible so as not to invite too many memories of his absence. Laura's grandfather died a little over two months ago and so this holiday was fresh with memories and grieving, especially for Laura's grandma. So after much absence in my posting, here we go:

THE GATHERING
by Billy Collins

Outside, the scene was right for the season,
heavy gray clouds and just enough wind
to blow down the last of the yellow leaves.

But the house was different that day,
so distant from the other houses,
like a planet inhabited by only a dozen people

with the same last name and the same nose
rotating slowly on its invisible axis.
Too bad you couldn't be there

but you were flying through space on your own asteroid
with your arm around an uncle.
You would have unwrapped your scarf

and thrown your coat on top of the pile
then lifted a glass of wine
as a tiny man ran across the screen with a ball.

You would have heard me
saying grace with my elbows on the tablecloth
as one of the twins threw a dinner roll
across the room at the other.


(Billy Collins is the author, most recently, of "The Trouble with Poetry: And Other Poems.")

Today was a doozie.

Today was one day I could have done without. After many lessons and talks about not using too much toilet paper because it clogs the toilet and after Corey had to plunge the toilet once from someone using the entire roll, I witnessed one of my children wiping himself with the very last bit of the roll. Literally, the entire roll was in the toilet and only cardboard was visible on the wall. Shouldn't that be the signal that you have used too much?!?

So, my worst nightmare became reality and I had to put on latex gloves and scoop out every last bit of poopie toilet paper so the pot wouldn't clog. I literally had to lock myself in the bathroom so that I could dry heave and run to the open window for fresh air after each scoop without alarming the entire Star Room. I'm not sure that it really smelled bad, but I was just so aware of what I was doing that I was grossed. And for some reason, it doesn't bother me cleaning diapers. Maybe it was just the principle of it that was getting to my gag reflex. (Not to mention soggy toilet paper and turds.)

Debbie told the children about it at circle. "Miss Ida had to put her hands in the toilet and scoop out all the wet paper." You've never seen so many huge eyes around a circle captivated by the story and inspecting my hands for evidence. Well, everyone except the child who pulled the roll who just looked around accusingly at everyone else. (That was kind of cute, I must admit, redeemable even.) Now I wonder if it would be wasteful to set up toilet paper work on the practical life shelf. (Though hopefully it won't be necessary now that they all know the trauma I endured.)

This reminds me of a post I read on another Montessori teacher's blog about an accident a child had in her classroom in which she frantically went to search for the cleaning lady. (!)

They could never pay me enough for this doodie kind of day.

The blackest of roooooms...

When my family gets together we usually have sing-a-longs. My uncle plays the guitar and we have greatest hits we perform and it's rousing and unifying and has gotten a lot more fun as the cousins all catch up to age 21. So this last family reunion was in Montezuma, Georgia for my cousin Will's amazing wedding (which I should have blogged about because he is such a wonderful man who had a wonderful wedding) ...anyway... My Uncle Jim loves to play for everyone and got out his guitar back at the cabins we had rented and we sang the favorites, even repeating some because that's just how much fun we were having. Quite often we kind of fantasize about what it will be like when the cousins all start having kids and if we will still have sing-a-longs (who will play the guitar?, will we sing the same songs?, etc. etc.) But no one has found themselves gifted enough or confident enough on the guitar and were realizing that maybe the tradition might turn a capella with select songs on the guitars that some had learned. But, in heroic mastery, my 18 year old cousin John who is a senior in high school, has proven to be inherently gifted at the guitar and so the tradition will not die. He played along with his dad all night. At some point the adults began to fade away and it was John and some cousins playing. My brother came over and started playing a song he had taught himself (studying alone 7 nights a week in your one bedroom apartment lends itself to idle time learning to play guitar, you see) that most of my cousins knew and it turned into a cousin sing-a-long. Then John started playing songs he knew and we swung into our new repetoire. So this is all really special because it was the first time that the young-un's took over. What was especially special (is that possible?) about it was seeing my uncle stand back and watch us sing and love each other and share music and see his talent and influence oozing all around. I love my family.

So, I told this story because I didn't know the song William had played that started us cousins singing, but I recently heard it on the radio and downloaded it on iTunes and now constantly have it stuck in my head. It was "I'll Follow You Into the Dark" by Death Cab for Cutie, a depressingly sweet song about love and after-life. This began our playlist of Glycerine by Bush, Wonderwall by Oasis, something by Green Day, and various other mid-90s grunge-era songs that do not go along with Elvira by the Oak Ridge Boys and The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down. But I guess we have to mix it up somehow.

Van Clemens.

This is my cousin Natalie.













This is her self-portrait.













Amazed.

Take that, Lou Dobbs.