Daniel bought me this lovely little journal yesterday.... so, I can finally begin to write to/about this new baby. I feel bad to have left it for so long... I wrote in two different journals while expecting Ari, AND kept up a blog in her honor.
See what I´ve done to myself?? I thought it would be a good idea to test if the iron was actually on: it has left two little scar-lines on my fingers.
The village green:
Having lived in the middle of nowhere for about half a year now, I have discovered that I am not a village-person. Ari and I are bored out of our wits. I still have visions of myself standing on a hill of a shire-like village, surrounded by sheep and cows.... but this does not come close.
It is too hot, too dry: I wonder how anything can survive here. We spend most of the day trying to avoid the sun; staying inside, wishing we could be elsewhere.
I much prefered living here when we were snowed in: there was something romantic about that, at least. Oh well. We plan to be back in the civilized world in the fall.
Change:
Daniel and I live haphazardly. For all the thinking, speculating, and dreaming we do, we rarely actually plan anything, which means that we usually just end up where the winds of change take us. This might just be the reason why I am always ready for the next place, the next change. If only we would just make a decision, set a goal, and work toward that... I wouldn´t be so restless. Maybe. I am so inspired by change. I might even say I am a bit addicted to it. It must have something to do with this:
"I went into the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life...to put to rout all that was not life; and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."
*Henry David Thoreau
(although I am not planning to go live in the wood, as much as it appeals to the imagination).
This is why I am considering the option of going to graduate school....for a second time. The degree I already have isn´t going to open the doors that I want to walk through. It might, by some unexpected turn in events, help me become a High School teacher, but I´d rather be better "equipped" to do a multitude of things... The thought of teaching a group of 15-year olds what a particular poem means (an idea I don´t support to begin with) just doesn´t inspire me.
In fact, I don´t think I would enjoy teaching at all, unless I could teach the "real" stuff: i.e. the college-level courses that so inspired me.
The problem is, once again, that I can´t just drop everything I am doing (mothering, that is) and run off to college. It would have to be planned out very carefully, prepared for financially, etc.
I am just hoping/dreaming that I won´t have to wait until I am forty years old to return to college. I have forgotten enough of what I have learned just in the last two years. Ten or fifteen years would put me back at the High School level, I fear, or worse. "William Shakespeare´s timeline ???? Um... the Romantic age?" See what I mean???
