Ray, is time a thing that moves in a stream, or comes in clumps like cottage cheese? Does it flow like a river, come down from north like a wind, or does it rumble from time to time like California earthquakes? I'd like to know, because lately it seems as though the long stretches of quiet, the bowl of sun and space with nothing to stir it but my own steps forward, these seem gone, or become the dumped contents of a pair of salad tongs. One arm of the tongs is me. What is the other?
This week, in addition to my teaching, I've done a prep session for students getting ready for the CAAP exam, co-hosted, sort of, a conference for the GPACW, participated in a panel discussion of the English for New Media program at DSU, and led a workshop (with a colleague) on the multimedia authoring software Sophie, which neither of us knew before we took on the workshop.
Nothing wrong with keeping busy, except when it invades the need for quiet, or time with family. It just so happens my sister and her man came through this week on their RV journey west after selling their home, quitting their jobs, and packing everything into an 18 year old motor home and leaving Nashville for California via St. Louis, South Dakota, Boise, Portland, and maybe even Seattle. Then my daughter and her man arrived for a visit from Minneapolis. So it's great having them here, but I wish, Ray, that there could be less of it all happening at once.
It's all good.