Chin-high Zinnias

Back late last night from my parent's house. It is good to be home, back in the familiar smells and squalls of my own house. Actually, Martin cleaned the house so that it was in a much better state than I left it. Blessed chap. He gets big kudos, big oreos, big shmaroonis!

The yard and garden is an absolute jungle. I am not overstating the case. Five inches of rain and no mowing or weeding to speak of equals absolute chaos. I delighted in the sight of my mother cutting down chin-high zinnias this morning. She took a huge, velvet-red dahlia the size of a 5 year-old's head to my dear great aunt, who broke her hip last week. I actually would have loved to drive down with her to see my Grandpa and Grandma and Aunt Elaine, but that will have to wait. One can only bereave one's husband so long. . .and oneself, for that matter.

Speaking of the archaic "one," I teach my first class tonight. My syllabus is finished, obscure, full of attitude and an impossible work load (or more or less all those things--also protected by the "subject to change with notice" clause), and I do now have a schedule for my first three-hour class, which to me is like a security blanket whether it stands bravely or falls.

I'll be teaching 15 men and women Creative Nonfiction, or more specifically, the Art of the Personal Essay. I must say, though I've written fairly extensively in this genre, the teaching of it seems a bit of a slippery thing. It is a truly slithery genre, including so many things and a bit fuzzy around the edges. Thankfully, mine is not a lit. class but a workshop class, and I learn best by DOING, not by EXPLAINING, and in this case the DOING is a great deal of reading and writing. These two things, besides eating and bathing and gardening, keep the world ticking--they are truly a sort of bread and butter of existence, at least for people like us.

Martin is busy with many matters, and my gastronomic sympathies are with him, he who must prepare many syllabi and classes.

Maybe, then, considering the day and the unpacking and what-not to boot, I should mobilize myself to a shower and real clothes. And PLUCK my chin hairs, since students always notice such things! Ah, the burdens of being human and presentable!