Tiny White Flowers

Tiny White Flowers

Monday, May 17, 2010

Driving Miss Crazy, Safely

Two things: Life is too crazy right now, and DD is driving solo as I write, for the first time.  Are these related?

What fits into the Thing One category:

Do the kids need an updated passport for our DC trip in a month?  If so, can we swing it, in the time left?

Three calls later, DD is on our insurance as a new driver.

It takes a ferry and 1+ hour to get to the hospital to visit my dad.  More during rush hour.  One way, twice a week.

Graduation is coming up, as is the U2 concert (the next night), and we leave for DC two days after that.  How will Dad be at that time?  Will I actually be going on the trip, or not. . .?

DS had an energy bar over an hour ago at school.  He just ran out of insulin.  How soon can we get there?

(This is where category Two comes in:  DD is driving solo for the first time.)

How do most parents feel the first time their kid drives away by them self for the first time?  My palms were sweaty, I must admit.  But, she just checked in, and all's well.  And DS has his insulin now.  On to the other puzzle pieces that need fitting.

I need a poem.

Here's one from Poets.org for today:

Ancient Theories

by Nick Lantz 

A horse hair falls into the water and grows into an eel.
     Even Aristotle believed that frogs
                                formed from mud,
that mice sprouted like seedlings in the damp hay.

     I used to believe the world spoke
                           in code. I lay awake
and tried to parse the flashes of the streetlight—
       obscured, revealed,
                    obscured by the wind-sprung tree.
Stranded with you at the Ferris wheel's apogee
       I learned the physics
                    of desire—fixed at the center,
it spins and goes nowhere.

       Pliny described eight-foot lobsters
                         sunning themselves
on the banks of the Ganges. The cuckoo devouring
       its foster mother. Bees alighting
                         on Plato's young lips.

In the Andes, a lake disappears overnight, sucked
       through cracks in the earth.
                         How can I explain
the sunlight stippling your face in the early morning?

Why not believe that the eye throws its own light,
       that seeing illuminates
                    the world?
                         On the moon,
astronaut David Scott drops a hammer and a falcon feather,
     and we learn nothing
                    we didn't already know.

*   *   *

And so it goes.

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