Of Bears and Penguins

I've heard it said that I haven't blogged in a while.
There are a thousand and 1 excuses - I will now list all of them:
1. It is winter and my fingers are too numb to type.
2. Spending vast amounts of time with 10 year olds has rendered me incapable of adult thought.
3. The hamster that runs on the wheel that generates power for my computer died.
4. My double life of teacher/super hero leaves no time to write - where's my cape?
5. I've been spending free time analyzing Joni Mitchell lyrics - "Oh Canada," indeed.

...

Enough? Didn't think I'd really write 1001 things...that would be a James Joyce move, and that ain't how I roll.

I read a poem once by Ferlinghetti, and it's refrain was "I am waiting for a rebirth of wonder."
That line lodged itself in my brain today like some well marked arrow shot from the bow of a better angel. I am in desprate need of a rebirth of wonder.

And still in all, I've got great peace in my heart and gratitude as well - I start my day with thanks in my heart, and close my eyes the same. There's peace in the day's labor, though the labor be not peaceful, but more like one of Turner's scrambled-egg seascapes.

I complained once about a lack of inspiration, that perennial malady of every would-be artist. A friend said that when there is a lack, you must make your own.

And lately, I've come to think that the core of your heart is truly what determines your reactions - there's not a new idea under the sun I know. But I've been carrying my peace with me, and that makes up for that lacking wonder in the dirty, dangerous, deviled hallways of my school.

...

There's no love lost between me and Baltimore. But last week I came over a hill to see the city bathed in the rainwashed sunlight that rides in on the storm's coattails. It made me catch my breath, as beauty should, and I looked for the longest time at the light that looked so fine and clean. It made Baltimore, ancient Southern belle with drooping skirts she may be, look new and young.

It was the light she stood in that made her beautiful.

Ain't it true for all of us. It's the light we stand under that gives definition to our features, that softens our edges, or deepens the shadows within us. It's the light we stand in that gives us our shape.

There's wonder enough in that thought to carry me through winter yet.