We fall asleep reading the classics at our house. Why this matters may make more sense if you keep reading.
I’m in a little tussle with my school district right now.
The way it stands, I provided the same end-of-year information in 2018 to my school district as I did the year before, and this time, they said it wasn’t enough.
Feelings of nostalgia usually come up in the spring as grad season comes upon us. For me, both the end of high school and the end of college felt a little traumatic, so the memories are bittersweet.
The year I graduated from high school, my dad accepted a job on Long Island. While my classmates were making plans to hang out for one last summer, I was packing my belongings and saying goodbye to my childhood home. We pulled out of our driveway and headed south two days after my graduation.
That summer felt like a lost opportunity. The friendships that had suddenly become so meaningful and intense were abruptly cut off and I found myself in a new place, surrounded by new people who were friendly… but it would be starting over only to leave in the fall for college and start over again. I wasn’t keen.
Good Friday. The two challenging kids who are usually in school were home. I was scheduled for a night shift. I was dreading the anticipated lost sleep that night, and wondering how I was going to get through the next week with all my little kids home, my oldest home, and my two big girls away visiting family friends.
When I was growing up, my siblings and I spent a lot of time outside. We had a swing set that we swung so hard on, the whole structure would rock. There were mums, irises, and day lilies along the back of the house, and steps leading from our back door that were, in my memory, big and wide and perfect for sitting on. As an older kid, I claimed a corner of the yard and planted flowers in front of a beautiful stand of ferns.
I loved the smell of the clean laundry on our clothesline. I was fascinated by the iridescent wings of the Japanese beetles that clung to the clothes and the crisp, starchy feeling of the laundry as it came off the line. For the many sunny days when the clothes dried uninterrupted, there was also the rush of adrenaline from pulling down clothes as the first drops of a rainstorm began to fall.
The Holy Longing: The Search for a Christian Spirituality, by Ronald Rolheiser, was the second of two books I read while going through RCIA this year.
RCIA is Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults. It’s part of the process of joining the Catholic Church. I didn’t start the class intending the join the Catholic Church.
