an incident to report

last saturday, I got the ring tattoo, and so not to become boring or dull on saturdays in general, yesterday I finally went ahead and pierced this huge beak of mine.

for so long I resisted getting it pierced because I just thought, seriously, for all the things about me that are small, my nose is, well, not.
so I could continue to want a nose piercing and think I shouldn't do it, or I could be like nike and just do it ...

now comes the healing

the incident report

there are moments when time dilates like the pupil of an eye, to let everything in

last summer I read one of those books that makes you seek out an audience because what you find on the pages is so good, you are compelled to share it. today I partially re-read it and am happy to report, incidentally, that I loved it just as much the second time around.

the incident report by martha baillie

parts of this book are ferociously funny, parts are melo-dramatic,parts cause you to pause and parts make you choke up a little. perfection.

the whole is comprised of 144 incident reports, compiled by Miriam Gordon, thirty-five years old, employee of the Public Libraries of Toronto.

incident report 66

a patron came to the reference desk at 3:04 this afternoon to report that a man was standing in the street in front of the library directing traffic with a tea bag

Interjections by Miriam's co-workers and a look into the private life of Miriam and her lover, 28 year old Slovenian cab driver Janko Prijatelj round out this slice of Canadiana so succinctly I hesitate to believe it is only fiction. I want to know Miriam and become friends. Her story pulls me in, first because she makes me laugh out loud, then, later, because I feel almost like I have stumbled, accidentally, across her diary and I cannot make myself stop reading it.

incident report 76

the time was 11:35 pm. janko's full weight descended upon me, burying my belly, and my breathing slipped inside his. in the spreading sweetness my name fell from his mouth

some of the incidents reported are only a few sentences long, while others require a few pages. none are dull. all are strikingly beautiful in and of themselves, evoke a wealth of feeling. the incident report both fulfills and satisfies.

back to books

on Sunday I head back to school for an intense week of learning. hopefully, by Christmas, I will have earned the title of level II educational therapist intern. it is as much of a mouthful as it is a brainful. I come out of a week very tired and somewhat overwhelmed but excited to offer new techniques to my students and with a new appreciation for all the hard work I put in at Uni all those years ago.

As a side note, but not really for all my brilliant homeschooling friends, you should read this book, one of the required texts for this year's course of study:

Endangered Minds by Jane M. Healy.
you'll be shaking your head and saying "I told you so"

Harold Best

which is the greater mystery?

that man is artistically creative
or that in his creativity he may empty himself and still remain artistic?

wednesday

i really have no other way of describing this but to sort or talk around it, thinking that perhaps the longer i spew, the more sense it will eventually make.

i have intuitions.

some are cool, like thinking about a friend you haven't spoken to in years, maybe even ten, and suddenly the phone rings, or you are out and there they are.  you tell them you had just been thinking about them and knew they were going to call ... or you knew you were going to run in to them.

sometimes i just sense a mood or situation; how a thing is going and how it is going to soon turn.

this morning was like that.  i got up. got ready for work. got in the car. underlying all my other random thoughts was the one that said today i was going to get a call i did not want.  one i would not like, but one i would recover from.

all i wanted to do, after, was find myself in eden park, listening to over the rhine, feeling the breeze in my hair and forgetting that i had any responsibilities or cares because some days are like that.

i came home.  i ate. i did some thinking, then i finished reading lisa moore's february.  some books are like this day.  and i find that very, very profound.

saying goodbye

when I first started homeschooling,  I knew it was the right thing for me, for us. I knew that even though I had no support at the beginning, it was going to be a wickedly fun adventure on a ride that few might understand but I would never regret getting on.
I was so right and more.  I have zero regrets even now that we have chosen to step off the ride. zip, zero, ziltch.


I highly recommend it to anyone. you don't need a degree, I just happen to have one.


you don't need to be an expert in every subject ... I cannot even remember all the ways things just 'fell into place' for us, countless times, sometimes without me asking, other times, with me on my knees, begging and pleading for intervention.


it hasn't always been a bed of roses. I have threatened to quit many times. I have sent kids to their rooms for a day and called it character building. I have sent myself to my room and called it sanity. I have ordered too much, not purchased enough, read out loud until my throat was sore, laughed, cried, danced with joy, banged my head and even considered medication from time to time. sometimes all in the same day.

but this is my ode to homeschooling. this is my ode to my children, the fruit of my labour.


intense
but worth every second

telemarketing fun

now, don't get me wrong ... I have been a telemarketer before.  I know what kind of training you get.  I know what the room that you work in looks like.  I know you are getting barely above minimum wage.  I know there is a blackboard of sorts at the front of the room where you get to record a "deal" that went through without a hitch.  you might even get to pick a candy from the glass jar next to the chalk board.  (well, I never did personally, but I witnessed it).  and I know this call may be monitored so I really, really, REALLY hope you listen to the one you just recorded :

phone rings at my house

me, with my standard answer at home: this is Kristina

silence (where I normally choose the 'hang up quickly it's a telemarketer' option)

I wait, though unsure why I am waiting, exactly

me: hello? simultaneously with telemarketer saying hello?
we dance like this a couple of times before he remembers he called ME

telemarketer:  can I please speak with mrs. apps?

me: inside voice, first: excellent, followed by outside voice: there is no one here by that name.  they must have had this number at one time because we get a lot of calls for them, but there are no 'apps' living here.

telemarketer:  look, I am calling for the number, NOT the name, OK?

me:  seriously ... YOU are getting mad, now, at ME?  um, I don't think so.

click.

if you could only see

I finished another beautiful novel last night, called Blue Nude, by Elizabeth Rosner.  It touched so many parts of me.  I couldn't stop saying "this novel is beautiful".  It was almost gaggy (not the novel, but how many times I said it was beautiful).  I wanted to stop everyone and make them listen to excerpts.  I am that kind of weird.  Usually it's just the cats who sit for an encore.


you could also go here: http://www.elizabethrosner.com/content/blue_nude.asp