The Line

Our extended family just lost a little boy, age 2, in a terrible accident. I push myself into my classroom today, the morning after the funeral, in a haze of exhaustion and heartache. I find what I have come to usually find this first week of school: Eric sitting quietly on the couch, letting loose with stealth snide about politicians with whom he disagrees and hopes that the fourth Aragon book is better than the last. Shena, having such an animated audible conversation with the narrator of the short story I am reading aloud that I have to tell her as gently as possible to settle down. Svetlana, who is debating whether to bring in the thirty page fantasy novel she authored. Josh, who is reading what may perhaps be my favorite independent book this year, Superheroes and Philosophy. And kids in each class, who have only known me for 48 hours, chorusing gently and genuinely that the substitute was terrible and they missed me. Each one, each little life, shining.

Sometimes the country is a state of mind.  Laura Veirs writes a lot of tunes that tap into the repeating meditative patterns of plainsong; sung by the Cedar Hill Choir of “O Brother Where Art Thou?” fame, and recorded in Johnny and June Cash’s cabin, the ending  is transcendent. Enjoy.

Starting school in 48 hours, somehow feeling more prepared and put together than I have yet.  Break a leg, everyone.

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