April 28, 2004

• Grossology

  
  

  The Louisville Science Center has a new exhibit, Grossology.  It's all about the science behind things like burps, farts, poop, pee, boogers, and vomit.  The kids loved it, of course.  My favorite part was this slide in the shape of a large intestine.  The kids came down through a rectum and landed on a brown pad that looked like poop.  The kids' favorite was a giant nose into which they could shoot Ping Pong ball "dust".  When the nostrils got full, the proboscis "sneezed" these snot colored balls back out all over the room.  Yeah - it was worth the price of admission. 

  
  

  We're working hard around here, and I do mean that WE are working.  I've had the kids helping to pack things.  A friend pointed out that not only are they old enough to be helpful, but involving them will make it their move as well.  Otherwise, they are just luggage being dragged along on my move.  I hadn't thought of it that way, but it's true!  And its a lot nicer to give them a box and let them be responsible for packing their videos and books.

  
  

  We all have too many books.  So far, I've packed about half the books in my house, and they fill over 20 boxes.  No larger than the U-Haul small size box so I don't hurt myself lifting them, but still, that's a lot of books.  Our house isn't a house, it's a library!  And of course, last night at bedtime, Michael realized that the book he really really wanted to read - was one he'd packed that afternoon.  The joys of moving, right?

  
  

  I have until May 29 to get everything into storage here in Indiana.  When we moved here from Minnesota, I planned it out in a leisurely fashion, pack X number of boxes per day, adding to to X number per week, and by move day, it will all come together.  Only the last week of that packing time, I got flu and threw up (see Grossology above) so much that I couldn't stand up straight.  Lesson learned - I'm setting myself a schedule that should result in everything packed up and mostly moved by May 15.  It's my plan that for the last two weeks we're here, we'll have nothing but our beds, our clothes, and paperplates. 

  
  

  But of course, in addition to packing up the house, there are regular chores which must be done.  Today, I'll be mowing the yard.  I have to.  We had all that rain last week, and the grass is looking like it's had a major shot of miracle grow.  The dog doesn't want to go outside because it's beginning to resemble a jungle and she's a little concerned about what kind of wildlife might be lurking behind those daylillies. 

  
  

  And as long as I'm listing things to complain about, remind me to take DUSTING more seriously in the future.  The more I clean off these shelves to pack the worse my allergies are getting.  (See Grossology above).  Entire warrens of dust bunnies have set up their own systems of government in here and I never knew!  So even before I start mowing, I'm already having issues. 

  
  

  That's about all the whining I can stand to hear from myself in one morning. 

  
  

  Would you like to see a poem?  Not one I wrote, but one from a poet I'm coming to appreciate more and more and I become more familiar with her work.  - Naomi Shihab Nye was born of an American mother and an Palestinian father.  Her work consistently reveals the poignancy and paradoxes that emerge from feeling an intimate relationship with two different cultures.  She was born in St. Louis, has lived in Jerusalem, and lives now with her family in San Antonio.  All three places weave in and out of her writing.  - From the biographical notes at the back of Roger Housden's Ten Poems to Open Your Heart

  
  

  Kindness

  
  

  Before you know what kindness really is
  you must lose things,
  feel the future dissolve in a momnet
  like salt in a weakened broth.
  What you held in your hand,
  what you counted and carefully saved,
  all this must go so you know
  how desolate the landscape can be
  between the regions of kindness.
  How you ride and ride
  thinking the bus will never stop,
  the passengers eating maize and chicken
  will stare out the window forever.

  
  

  Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
  you must travel wher the Indian in a white poncho
  lies dead by the side of the road.
  You must see how this could be you,
  how he too was someone
  who journeyed through the night with plans
  and the simple breath that kept him alive.

  
  

  Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
  you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
  You must wake up with sorrow.
  You must speak to it till your voice
  catches the thread of all sorrows
  and you see the size of the cloth.

  
  

  Then it is that only kindness makes any sense anymore,
  only kindness that ties your shoes
  and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
  only kindness that raises its head
  from the crowd of the world to say
  It is I you have been looking for,
  and then goes with you everywhere
  like a shadow or a friend.

  
  

  Kindness - I love what she has done in this poem.  She plays back and forth between the kindness we long to receive and the kindness we must understand.  I have found over the past six months that the world is a much kinder place than I realized.  I have a place here, and it's a good place.  I've also found that I am kin - I have a relationship with others that I had missed before.  Kindness.  I'll keep thinking about this for a while. 

  
  

  I hope you all have an excellent day.

  
  

  Terri

  • 9:22 am
  • 11 Comments