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Showing posts from 2014

Kaitlyn

My baby is a poet.  This made me happy, sad and wistful for deep summer evenings. Wheatfields The sky is black and the air is dark I can hardly see the hand in front of my face looking up to see pieces of light scattered through the sky like the freckles on your face I close my eyes and breathe in the freshness of the wheat and the pungent onions mixed with the sound of sprinklers I open my eyes and no longer recognize the smell of the earth I hear the rain on my window But it’s not the same I close my eyes again So I can breathe in my crisp air and your scent Kaitlyn Meyer 14 October 2014 Professor Conner             Sometimes, when it rains at night here, it reminds me of summer in my hometown. I can close my eyes and almost feel myself sitting on my back deck with my closest friends in the pitch black, the only light being the stars. We listen to the sprinklers, which on some nights, sound just like the rain here. I can remember the sme

Change your hair, change your life

Kaitlyn and Missy have a private joke. "Change your hair, change your life."   The lesson is:  if you want something to change, take action.  It's simple. Except when it's not. Sometimes change is something we yearn for and pursue.  We pull on our boots and face it head on, welcoming a move to something, some place different.  We embrace the edge of anxiety, relish the sense of disequilibrium that comes with growth. Sometimes we fight it, kicking and screaming, digging in our heels in futile resistance. And sometimes, like this summer, we take it all in, and just try to keep breathing, praying a lot. This has been the summer of letting go. Zach finished at Oregon State and came home.  For a week.  He got a job at Walla Walla Juvenile Justice Center.  He got married.  He moved into a cute little apartment with his beautiful wife. There are a lot of changes in that last paragraph.  Changes that he worked for, dreamed about and deserved.  His life