Often, in May, we've found ourselves in Scotland. We've worked it out so that we can leave as soon as our school is out. This year, my daughter in Scotland is doing training to be able to teach in Scottish elementary schools, and is currently placed in a school for the whole month.
What this means is that the order of things to which I've become accustomed is upended. I'd like to be able to tell you that I didn't pout about this for a minute or a few weeks. Just like, having had some successes, big ones, come my way poetry-wise doesn't mean that this morning when I was sending off groups of poems to magazines I wasn't gripped with feelings of unworthiness, cynicism, and maybe even nihilism. Poetry-wise.
Well, these things come and go. But right now I am feeling so many compensatory joys: the aforementioned successes can be brought back to a grateful mind. Also, the roses are in bloom, and iris. Often, when we return from Scotland at the end of May, the first bloom of plenty of things is almost concluded. This year, we're here to enjoy it.
We're in Tempe, having just arrived, for a visit with my son and his family. My daughter is having a baby soon, and I'll be here to snuggle her and help out a little or a lot. I got to take her and little Gwen to buy an advanced wrappy-thingie that will make holding the baby close while still doing this or that much more possible, and while we were at it, we bought a berry-flavored Refresher at Starbucks for the road.
And I've been able to work on my manuscript, and I just got the first look at the cover and layout of my book.
So: joys. You just have to let go of your pout and your anxiety enough to see them.