The first day of spring break is nearing it's end, and I'm exhausted. This is the way I usually feel about this time on a Monday night, but I didn't wake at 4:45 this morning and wrangle with teenagers for 8 hours. I mean, nothing is more exhausting than that, right? Apparently, driving for 4 hours to meet your teen hero is just as tiring. I found out yesterday that Amy Grant was going to be in Brandon today signing autographs. Everyone who knows me knew that even my muddy road and pouring rain wouldn't keep me away from this. There are three people in this world who I would risk the dangers of old people driving on the interstate in Sarasota to meet. She's one of them (followed by Eddie Vedder and Glenn Beck). It was a fun day. In line I talked to a woman about the silly things we did to imitate Amy as teenagers. She tried a perm. I made my own leopard print jacket. We agreed that Lead Me On is still her best album and learned how to operate each other's camera

This is a contemplative morning for me, and there's a lot rumbling around in my head. I'm not at work today because I am finally going in to see the doctor about this itchy skin. I've spent the morning correcting papers and listening to Led Zeppelin. Does it really get any better than that? For the last few days, I've had an idea for a poem floating around in my head. (Monday morning, I scribbled the opening lines on an index card right in the middle of teaching a lesson on the dangers of living in Alaska.) I think it finally came together this morning, and I'll be honest with you. I don't normally have much an emotional reaction to my own writing, but this one brought tears to my eyes. Part of me feels like I haven't done the concept here the justice it deserves, and there's always the chance that I'll elaborate a bit more. For now, though, I need to share this. My kindred, is it enough to know you're part of the world that we'll

Me: Why do you think people choose to live or camp in Alaska? Student: Because they want to have fun there. Me: What do you think people do for fun in Alaska? Student: Play with bears. Tutor: What kind of game do you play with bears, hide and seek? Me: I think it's more like Tag.

I remember the days when poetry used to ooze from my veins. I could think of whatever moment I wanted to capture and turn it into lines of metaphors and alliteration. What happened? I think it has something to do with way too much going on at work and the fact that Spanish seems to be overtaking my brain these days. (Seriously, I'm answering people in Spanish.) My art group met tonight, and I shared what random lines and ideas I had. I felt so vulnerable there, offering my meager contributions to the group. Fortunately, I was in the company of artists who were so accepting and encouraging, and I needed that camaraderie. I think I also needed half a bottle of Australian cab and a few tostones. Although I'm sure this poem is nowhere near finished, and I will tweak it some more between tonight and our meeting at the BEACH tomorrow evening for some sunset filming, I will share here what I have. The first voice is the boat captain (el capitan de barco). The second is a woman. He gav

I just got back from a planning meeting for my Collaborative Arts Experiment group. This is a project put together by my friend (and hair genius), Katelyn. Basically, a group of artists from different media are placed in a group, given a prompt, and must put together some form of multi-media presentation. All this must be done in a week. My group consists of a visual artist, three writers, and two dancers. Our prompt is, "This is the story of two outsiders who find common ground when..." Then we have a list of random concepts/objects that should be embedded in the presentation. We toyed around tonight with some ideas and seem to have landed on a rough idea that involves poetry in different voices, conceptual dance, and sound/light. At the moment, our two outsiders are loosely based on my vignette "El Capitan de Barco" from the "La Isla Encontrada" book. I think I am going to turn the scene into a poem that captures the two people and what connects them, an

I've been setting in motion the wheels for my transition out of public education and into my true call in life: writing. It's not been a particularly easy (or quick) move for me. In fact, the main reason I decided to start teaching was because I thought that the hours would give me time to write. That was seven years ago. During that time I've done my fair share of editing and freelance work. I've even published a short story and almost finished the manuscript for a trade book. I have notebooks here filled with all sorts of ideas and outlines. The problem is that I don't always believe in my own talent and want everything completely perfect before sharing it with the world. Since the divorce, though, I've found myself oddly comfortable in my own skin. I'm standing up for myself more and have embraced the all important question, "What do YOU want?" The answer has been slowly emerging, rising to the surface of the still waters that run so deep in my

Me: I've been listening to music in Spanish lately to train my ear to pick up the language. Alicia: How's that working? Me: Estoy practicando espanol porque voy al Peru en Junio. Alicia: How do you say "dork" in Spanish? Rachel: Allison

As usual, it's been a busy week around these parts, and none of my activities this week involved running. If my grandmother could hear at the moment and complete a sentence without hacking up a lung, she'd ask me what's wrong. I'd have to confess that my eczema has flared up in this oh-so-cold-there's-ice-on-my-car south Florida weather, and my skin is so itchy that I have bruises up and down my limbs from all the scratching I've been doing. There are some days I'm relieved to know men with calloused hands. (Before you take that last comment too seriously, remind yourself that I am writing this at 9:30 on a Friday night.) Anyway... I met up for coffee with someone last night who proved to stoke my creative juices. I'll spare you the details of the conversation, but I did have to stop him mid sentence to point out that that particular conversation will most definitely become part of "La Isla Encontrada." Fortunately, he agreed to it, and I fully

I had an interesting (yet brief) conversation last night about the meaning of life which took an winding path through the concept of existentialism and Christian faith. It ended with the realization that there must be some meaning because without it, everything is pure coincidence. One look at the night sky puts the entire notion of coincidence in this world to rest. In the process, I attempted to explain some of my belief system which is very different, in many ways, from the faith I was introduced to as a child. It has certainly evolved through the heartache and challenges and joys of my life in this world. Most people don't get what I try to explain, and I'll be honest...it's not easy for me to explain. My faith is completely experiential. As such, the words don't always come easily. I'm not even sure I can explain it here, but those who know me best seem to understand what I cannot describe. In the end, that's okay with me because it's all part of that p