Fresh Out of Ideas

Last night in the 2 1/2 minutes I saw Adam between him getting home from work and him leaving for basketball, I told him I had no ideas for my blog.

(You may think I should just not blog in such cases but I still make conversation when I have no ideas. Ask anyone.)

Emma said, "You could blog about your birthday."

Adam said, "She did."

(I don't know if he meant that in a supportive way or not.)

Since Emma was twirling around practicing her dance for the "flash mob" they're doing at FPS state (don't tell anyone in case it ruins the climactic moment), Braeden said, "You could blog about how Emma isn't learning anything at school."  It's true, unless Emma's exaggerating how much they're practicing dancing.

I went to my bedroom to contemplate (and escape flash mob practicing).  I got distracted by my collection of Classic Poetry.  Robert Burns delights me.  I imagine him to look exactly like Alexander McCall Smith.  I also like Emily Dickinson.  I always have.  I like picturing her wearing long white dresses, reclusive in a pretty little New England house, writing her quirky little poems.  I have an especially fond memory of a one woman show that visited Wells, NV when I was growing up.  The woman was portraying Emily Dickinson in a very earnest and dramatic fashion and then she stopped the show and turned to the crowd and reprimanded us for not being a good audience.  I think that it was Olivia and her friend Teri who were being the loud ones but I could be completely making that up.  (If you know Olivia and Teri, you know it's possible.)  I think that whole exchange in all its awkwardness was even more delightful than Emily Dickinson.

I read this by Christina Rossetti:
 
"...I am sick of self, and there is nothing new;
O weary impatient patience of my lot!--
Thus with myself:  how fares it, Friends, with you?"


It seemed like the perfect verse for me with my dearth of ideas.  Which I pondered for awhile.

Then I went to watch Phineas and Ferb with my children.

Because those guys are poets.

(and they make me laugh)





It turns out that I didn't need to write anything useful this morning anyway, just direct you here.

(Adam's broad shoulders attracted my gaze initially but it was his writing I fell in love with.)