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Honey trap…

April 7, 2010

I see him, said the woman…

She dropped the umbrella…

She put her hand on the locket that hung around her neck…

And Edward saw then that it was not a locket at all…

It was a watch…

A pocket watch…

It was his watch…

Edward??? said Abilene…

Yes, said Edward…

Edward, she said again,

certain this time…

Yes, said Edward,

Yes, Yes, Yes…

It’s me…

— in The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate Di Camillo

A professor once wrote a question,

on one of my assignments…

I didn’t offer up an answer for the question,

because I found it far too personal,

and quite frankly,

it was none of his beeswax…

I worked with a little girl who nearly lost her family,

in a car accident,

when she was four years old,

while she was at preschool…

In some ways I guess she did lose her family,

because although her mother, father, and baby brother survived,

things were never the same…

I’m a big believer in things never being the same again,

in fact I’d make it a political,

platform…

In Kindergarten,

this girl took some things home from the classroom…

Pretty little glass stones,

that we used for counting,

into sets of ten,

and beyond…

They were transparent so I could use them,

on the overhead projector,

when we were solving math stories,

all together…

I didn’t know she had taken things home,

until she brought me a note that said,

I’m so sorry

She wrote,

I will never take anything from you again…

And I will be good for you…

I told her that if there ever was anything,

that she wanted,

she just had to tell me,

and I would give it to her,

in an instant…

We had a few rough moments that year,

as she tested,

my unconditional love,

for her…

She told me with her eyes,

I’ve seen what you’ve done with the others,

and now it’s my turn…

I got the message,

and after that,

we flew all over the room together,

for the rest of Kindergarten,

and into Grade One…

Her mom told me that she would see books at the library,

and at garage sales,

and she would say,

My teacher would like those stories…

Sometimes she would bring those stories to our classroom,

and she would tell me with her eyes,

You need to read these to us…

These were stories about children who can see things,

that adults can’t…

Adults telling children,

That’s nice dear but can you be quiet now because I’m busy…

I watched her,

as I read,

sitting at the back of the group on the carpet,

her eyes as big as peppermint patties…

I asked her,

when we had some time to ourselves,

Can you see those things???

Can you see little people???

She answered me,

in the affirmative,

without saying a word…

I always took my class to the beach at the end of the year…

That year we went out,

on the lowest tide,

in June,

where we could walk for miles,

in eel grass,

and dig in the sand,

all the way,

to China…

At the end of the day,

before we were going,

to get on the school bus,

she brought me something…

Her mom told me,

over her shoulder,

As soon as she picked it up she said I’m going to give this to my teacher…

Her gift to me was a warm black stone…

When people read the stories they have written,

out loud,

stories written right out of their bodies,

you can tell they are true,

if some part of you,

falls to your knees,

and places you never even knew,

you had inside of you,

open up,

and make you cry,

for more…

Last nights’ Canucks’ game against Colorado was a win-win situation,

for everyone,

with no compromise…

The Canucks got another point,

and the Avalanche clinched a spot in the playoffs,

with a rookie’s beautiful shoot-out goal…

These are the kinds of results that are worth fighting for,

in sudden death…

Playing chances manifesting out of nowhere,

with skill,

discipline,

and steady patience…

Revin' up my engine, like a 747...

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