scored a miracle:
thirty percent off this tent
the day i gave in
dream tent and dream house:
they go so well together
just like our family
That Camp Life
road trip
Road Trip 2020, Day Ten
that long Kansas road
alleviated by teens
learning to drive home
Road Trip 2020, Day Eight
along a river
this fairy tale ferry stop
has stood a beacon
in muddy waters
kids get to be kids all day
while mamas paddle
nature is our home
found in Kentucky fire
lit by desire
Road Trip 2020, Day Seven
there is no escape here.
only evasion.
it’s up this curvy road packed with hill after horse-country hill,
packed with perfect fences and horses whipping their tails,
with cars zooming past, some honking at my hugging-the-shoulder presence as i pedal
pedal
pedal
past these race-won mansions,
these stacked-limestone walls that can’t trap me in or out,
into the sunny, humid heat of midday Kentucky,
so far from home, so far from home,
so near to everything that is hard and easy, up and down these endless hills
in a circle that isn’t a circle.
Road Trip 2020, Day Six (Turtles and All)
a creek paddle day
brings every boat together
for swimming and grins
Road Trip 2020, Day Five
if only these pics were perfect
as perfectly peaceful as they appear
and no one lost a phone (and all the love attached) to a lake
and no one said they hated each other
and no one lied to their mother
and no one cried.
but life isn’t this lake
this quiet Kentucky fishing lake that we ruined with six screaming kids and one barking dog
this peaceful lake for paddling or praying or both
this swimmable, all-ours, wake-free lake.
Life is this lake, isn’t it?
Perfect and not so perfect.
Road Trip 2020, Day Four
Kentucky cycles:
you can find happiness in
rolling hills, horse farms
Road Trip 2020, Day Three
nothing like my park
and isn’t that so perfect?
vines, dogs, shade, creeks, peace.
nothing like my path
and isn’t that so perfect?
sun, hills, curves, town, bike.
The Mountains Have Called
we’re winning this day
even if it feels like loss
once we leave this slope
The Story of my Life
I can’t write about all the things I wish to write about, but it has been HELL at work.
It’s not the kids (it is never the kids).
You know the burdens if you have carried them. Weights of national, state, and school district policies that bear down on our daily instruction. Weights of internal decisions that are never made with the voice of a teacher who sits each day with those kids. Weights of parents who sometimes don’t have any idea what it’s like to gather, with full attention, the love of thirty-two strangers. Every. Day.
And here we are, Friday Night Lights, chasing our peaks.
The sun is setting later now, and our ski seasons are coming to an end. I can’t even write the sentence without crying.
Because skiing is a luxury afforded to rich white people, which we have been for exactly four years and nine months.
Because this is our last little weekend getaway for a long time.
Because whenever we open our home, it seems like the world closes its doors.
But check out this sauna:
It comes at the very affordable $94 rate for the singular queen-size bed and free breakfast, just 47 minutes from the closest free parking lot (shuttle to the slopes).
It comes quickly and too hot and it feels amazing on my too-cold skin. My skin that has shivered for a week with news I don’t want to carry.
It is the story of every American. That, even with two raises, even after a teachers’ strike, even after committing seventeen years to a profession, I cannot afford to pay for my house or my bills on a singular salary.
It is the story of my husband who can fix anything you ever asked for with his hands, from laying a hardwood floor to replacing a toilet to connecting fiber optic wires to fully cleaning the impossibly-dirty grout in my parents’ bathroom… But who did not earn a degree, only four years of service to this God Bless America Country that has done nothing other than save us from down payments on properties.
It is the story of health insurance that we will either no longer have or can no longer pay for because I make too much to qualify for Medicaid but shouldn’t I provide shelter for the four children living under my roof?
It is the story of my life.
And we have less than three months to figure out exactly how to win these mountains back.
Step Write Up 