I got my second shot a week ago – they say I may in 7 days proceed exploring more of what I used to know last year before the fear of flu appeared. Now I’m some time away from home, although I’m relatively comfortable right here – these days amazed to watch the household grow. I get to meet the sweet they grew from seed – an infant who last year was embryo.
I had a bout of strong anxiety a month ago. I recognized the stress, although at first I worried I might be about to have a stroke. I was a mess and then resolved attempting to relax: to slow my breath and strengthen my exhale. I tried to counteract the sharp attacks. I didn’t fully win or fully fail.
I have a friend who panicked yesterday – she called and tried to get MD advice. Between some cancellations and the way her iPad wouldn’t work (it locked up twice), she soon demanded pills to calm her nerves. She didn’t opt to tap her own reserves.
It’s still too soon to socialize with you in person – we must manage via phone. That second shot we get this week is known to carry strong protection – that seems true – but we are told to let its power brew another fortnight into strength full-blown. It’s still too soon.
I owe my bubble care until we’re through the staggered quarantine we don’t condone. Until my kids are covered, we must groan alone. You asked although I know you knew it’s still too soon.
I wonder how bad actors sleep at night. When famous athletes lie, it boggles me. It’s obvious they aren’t thinking right – with no regard to their mortality. Their actions can’t produce true self-esteem. Their treasures must disable them with murk. They cannot own enough – gold turns to steam, that came without morality and work.
They’re after short-term gain and solo fame – their focus isn’t building dynasties. Venality and vice are not supplies they’d use to love themselves. So please don’t claim they’re great, and don’t invoke conspiracies, to comprehend a cheater spewing lies.
The more things change, the more they stay the same, is probably the falsest claim I’ve heard. Though mimicry and metaphor can frame idea, denying change is too absurd.
Not even Peter Pan stayed immature. Pandora peeked, Eve nibbled, and I’m sure that rocks erode and continental plates are destined for uncertain shifting fates.
Observing how our babies learn to be, we see them make tradition of two days. They long for repetition, and derive assurance from familiarity. That early work implants, becomes always, and paves the notion yesterdays survive.
My daughter had no hair when she emerged. What grew in that first year was dusky gold. A blue-eyed blonde she was, till fancy urged experiments with tints the drugstore sold. In time her natural color toned light brown, and later locks of silver threaded through. She highlit when the mirror brought her down, and now it’s looking white and wanting blue.
Throughout she’s self-described her hair as blonde; to her that definition’s nothing strange. She took it up when young and yellow-fond, and though she understands that life is change, she’s stuck in that pre-teen identity, and gives short shrift to time’s reality.
In love with language all my life, I’ve learned a lot of origins. I studied Greek and Latin, read Old Norse, and even turned a little toward the Sanskrit, with a peek at proto-English etymology. I’ve always been a reader, and for years I added shelving everywhere I dwelled. E-readers now allow me smaller spheres — I store a thousand volumes lightly held.
The decades of attention I have paid to words, combined with sticky memory, appear to let me hear more tones conveyed than others catch. A dog’s olfactory machine attends to smells full and intense, and I get words in ways most do not sense.
It’s known if monkey see, then monkey do. That’s how small apes and babies learn to be. So watch yourself – your boy is watching you.
You act like you expect your words, if true, to be the way he learns. But don’t you see? It’s known if monkey see, then monkey do.
You’ll have to move that phone out of your view if you’d deny him virtuality, so watch yourself – your boy is watching you.
Of late his fits of temper make you stew. You’d rather he learn equanimity. It’s known if monkey see, then monkey do.
When you’re irate, it’s hate and wrath you spew. Your mien is cold – your scowl’s enmity, so watch yourself – your boy is watching you.
Respecting repetition is the clue – use analog, and model courtesy. It’s known if monkey see, then monkey do. So watch yourself – your boy is watching you.
A better spring than last year is in store for us – I feel it in my bones and heart. Twelve months ago, we didn’t dream the start of lockdown would produce uncivil war.
We didn’t know the senate we’d abhor, the hate we’d grow to tear our towns apart. A better spring than last year is in store for us – I feel it in my bones and heart.
I don’t think I’m naive as I implore my friends to let anxiety depart, my family to act not bold but smart. I’m feeling healing truer than before – a better spring than last year is in store.
Plum petals show like snowflakes on the wood beneath my feet, against the crooked limbs above my office shed. Their whiteness skims and flits on wind as if they understood their blossom purpose has been served. I could avert my glance – no other act bedims plum petals.
They’re tufts of white throughout my neighborhood. They have no grandeur and few synonyms, but still they grab attention. Notice brims and I declare a nuisance looking good – plum petals.