you are not weak.

you are not weak
you are just tired
for now.

you are not quitting
i know you
i know you
you are just resting,
darling.

- Ijeoma Umebinyuo

P.S. You should follow her on Twitter.

sometimes.

"Sometimes I'm the mess.
Sometimes I'm the broom.
On the hardest days, I have to be both."

- Rudy Francisco

times haiku.

I know very little about poetry and just as much about computer programs and even less about algorithms, but I know that I spent a lot of time scrolling through Times Haiku and I loved what I saw/read. It's a Tumblr blog of haikus found within The New York Times. Random and quirky and lovely and true and just... awesome. Whimsical, if you will :) 

These are just some of my favourites: 

(All images via Times Haiku)

happy first day of spring!

The first day of Spring just might be my favourite day of the year. Seriously. It always makes me think of hope. So for that reason, and because the sky is blue today (and despite the fact that it snowed), I want to share this poem with you, in celebration of SPRING! And HOPE! And MORE GOOD THINGS! (That's me yelling in my excited voice for those of you who aren't here to hear it in person :)

"Hope"
by Dalyce Crossley

With hope
there's more yes than no
more light than dark
more clarity than dust.

With hope
there's more can than can't
more do than don't
more courage than fear.

With hope
there's more fly than fall
more stand than sit
more smile than tears.

With hope
there's more
bravery
love
compassion
fortitude
magic.

With hope
there's more.

alone is okay.

These found words are from "How to Be Alone," a spoken word poem by Tanya Davis.

I crave alone time. I need it, or I feel like I'm going crazy. That's not to say that I don't like hanging out with friends, because I do, but ideally, at least once a week, I like to have an entire day, or at least an entire evening/night, to myself. With no interruptions. It usually involves a book or my journal or this blog or a television show. (Lately I've been watching Downton Abbey and oh my word! I'm up to the Christmas Special from the second season -- no spoilers, please!)

I haven't given myself that alone time lately, for about 2 weeks now, and I need it. But things come up, life comes up, fun times with friends come up. And I like things, I like life, I like fun times with friends, so alone time doesn't happen but it needs to happen. And I need to remember that it needs to happen. And I need to not feel bad about missing out on things; I need to not worry about seeming anti-social. Because I'm not. I just like being with myself.

"Cuz if you're happy in your head then solitude is blessed and alone is okay."

(Photo by Chantal Brynne Plourde)

the sun is my best friend.

"Shine! Shine! Shine!
Pour down your warmth, great sun!
While we bask, we two together."

- Walt Whitman

It's getting warmer and brighter and that makes me so happy. Isn't it magical, how that happens? One day we're all bundled up, feeling like we'll never be warm again, and the next, we're walking to dinner WITHOUT A COAT! Magic, I tell ya!

When Gill and I got to "No Pork" last night (a fave local Chinese restaurant), he pointed out that the heavy "curtain" that had been hung over the door to keep the cold out and the warmth in had been taken down and I'm pretty sure I flung my arms into the air and yelled, "Yippee!" (And I just realized, maybe this is my China-equivalent of the wooden boards being removed from the stairs at STU? Which makes me that much happier!)*

Spring will be here before we know it and I can picture myself now, skipping down the street, singing to myself. Well, not really. But then again, it's me we're talking about, so, probably really.

*For those of you who were not lucky enough to go to STU: At the beginning of every winter, the stairs outside are covered with wooden boards to make them a bit less slippery and dangerous. The day when you realize the boards have been removed is hands-down one of the happiest of the year! (At least, it always was for me.)

do your best under the circumstances.

There is no land of perfect, child.
There is no sea of ease.
There is no candy apple trail.
There's broccoli and peas.

There is no suit of armour, child.
There's arrows and there's pain.
But when your heart is broken, child
Stay strong and love again.

There is no perfect person, child.
Not presidents or queens.
There's only all us trying, child
To be human human beings.

- Sheree Fitch

I'm a big fan of Sheree Fitch's writing. Her book Toes in My Nose was one of my favourites growing up; I could recite a few of the poems by memory -- and still can! The poem above is from another of her books, If I Had a Million Onions. I discovered it when I worked at a library the summer after my first year of university. I must have read "Do Your Best Under the Circumstances" a billion times, as well as a couple other poems from the book that really got me. Children's poetry is for adults, too!

(Photo from If I Had a Million Onions, via Sheree Fitch)

dialogue.

Once
when you turn your back
at the kitchen sink
you ask me what colour your eyes were.

I stand very near to you,
and very still, not touching
or looking
for what must be a time
because after I answer you ask
what took so long?

Entire geographies of sky between clouds
pool inside my head.

To me no time has passed at all.

- Michael Bradford

This poem was posted in one of Fredericton's city buses; I smiled wistfully every time I read it.

wild geese.

"Wild Geese"
by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
call to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Nan and I sat on her back deck almost every morning this summer. The sounds of geese as they flew overhead were one of my favourite things about the last few days before I left for China. 

(P.S. Another poem by Mary Oliver)

the door.

Go and open the door.
maybe outside there's
a tree, or a wood,
a garden,
or a magic city.

Go and open the door.
maybe a dog's rummaging
maybe you'll see a face,
or an eye,
or the picture
                   of a picture.

Go and open the door.
If there's a fog
it will clear.

Go and open the door.
Even if there's only
the darkness tickling,
even if there's only
the hollow wind,
even if
          nothing
                    is there.

go and open the door.

At least there'll be
                          a draught.

- Miroslav Holub

the happy mood.

"The Happy Mood"
by Florence Jacobs

"The happy mood --
it's lovely, and it's mine,
and I shall not expose it
to the wind, the weather
or the world's comments;
in a green-edged corner
of my heart I'll enclose it
with mist and moonbeams...
and it needn't make sense!"

goodbye, grade 2.

Last Thursday was the final day of my internship in a grade 2 classroom. The day seemed to fly by despite my wishes that it would crawl. I didn't want to say goodbye to the people I had spent 8 weeks with. I didn't want to say, "See you later." I wanted to say, "Have a good weekend! See you on Tuesday!" (There was no school on Monday.)

We had a small celebration to mark the day. I read Sheree Fitch's Sleeping Dragons All Around to the kids, using my best dragon voices, of course. They laughed and really got into it. And just before I surprised them with the cupcakes I had baked for them, they had a surprise for me.

With their teacher's help, my students had made me a book. One of the students presented it to me, whispering in her lilting voice, "Here you go, Miss Greer." The corners of my eyes stung with tears as I read the poem on the first page:

"We'll Remember You"
by Joanna Fuchs

Thank you, teacher, for helping us
To learn what we need to know.
We'll all remember you 
No matter where you go. 

Thank you, teacher, for being 
So nice and kind and good. 
We like you so much, teacher,
We'd have you stay here if you could. 

Each child had completed a page that read, "Miss Greer is a STAR because..." Reasons ranged from "she helped me with math" to "she always gave me the pizza with crusts." (One of the little boys loved pizza crust so I made sure to give him the corner pieces on Pizza Day each week.) I was impressed with how much effort they had put into these pages. Complete sentences, neat printing, and pictures with lots of detail and colour. This book is something I will always treasure, and I have no doubt that I'll be able to remember who my students were when I flip through their pages. So much of their personalities show in their work.

I didn't want to say goodbye to my students or the teachers, but I did. With cupcakes, books, hugs, smiles, and a few tears, I said goodbye to grade 2. But I promised I'd visit. And I will, because how could I not?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On another note, I'm back from Vermont! I apologize for not posting the past couple of days, but it was nice to be away and not thinking about my "online world." A post about the trip will be coming soon!

when I heard the learn'd astronomer.

When I heard the learn'd astronomer;
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me;
When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them;
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;
Till rising and gliding out, I wander'd off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.

- Walt Whitman

dirty dishes.

Anyone who knows me, knows that I do not like washing dishes. I'll wash my own, but I generally try to avoid that particular chore at gatherings. (Unless it's drying; I don't mind drying dishes).

I mentioned on Friday that someone shared a poem with me that changed the way I thought of dirty dishes. After the salad potluck we had on Wednesday, I washed the dishes. (No one asked me to; I just decided to start scrubbing!) While I was working, the school's secretary walked in (she had made the most delicious carrot cake ever!) and seemed surprised to find me at the sink. She thanked me and said that she was usually the one who washed the dishes at the end of the day. I said it was no problem and laughed, sheepishly confessing that it wasn't my favourite chore, to say the least. She laughed, too, and rattled off this ditty:

"Thank God for dirty dishes; 
They have a story to tell.
And by the pile that we have, 
We're certainly living well. 
While other people are starving, 
I haven't the heart to fuss;
For by this stack of evidence, 
God's certainly good to us!" 

She said that her grandfather used to recite it all the time when she was growing up. I knew I wanted to remember it and maybe even type it and frame it. I told her so, and she said she'd type it for me! I was holding it in my hands in just a few minutes.

I can't say that I now love washing dirty dishes, but I'm definitely more thankful for them!

P.S. This is my 100th blog post! Wow! Thanks for reading!

(Author of poem: Unknown. Image via apartment therapy.)

start the day in happiness.

"Why I Wake Early"
by Mary Oliver

Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who make the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories, 
and into the windows of, even, the 
miserable and the crotchety --

best preacher that ever was, 
dear star, that just happens
to be where you are in the universe
to keep us from ever-darkness, 
to ease us with warm touching, 
to hold us in the great hands of light -- 
good morning, good morning, good morning. 

Watch, now, how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.

(I first copied this poem into my journal on Thursday, March 18th, 2010. At that time, I was waking up early ever morning to go to class and I lived on the third floor of my building. Luckily for me, there was a big window on each of the stair landings. On many days, as I pushed open the hallway door to head downstairs, I was greeted by golden rays of sunshine, making everything glow. It felt magical and I'd end up bouncing down the stairs in happiness, in kindness.)

P.S. Can you tell I was going through my journals last night?

(Image via Pinterest)

hope is the thing.

Yesterday was one of those days. One of those days when you have a million things to do and you're tired and you feel like there's not enough time to do those million things. One of those days when you wonder if those million things are even worth doing because what is the point? One of those days when you just want to crawl into bed and go to sleep and wake up the next day to try again.

Yesterday was one of those days. But then I got a card in the mail from a dear friend and it was exactly what I needed. The poem inside the card was exactly what I needed:

"Hope is the thing with feathers" 

by Emily Dickinson 

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never stops at all, 

And sweetest in the gale is heard; 

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm. 

I've heard it in the chillest land,

And on the strangest sea; 

Yet, never, in extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.

(Thank you, Cara.)