Take Me Home

I hate the tediousness of grading. That as well as the in-class pressure is why I never wanted to teach. I've been grading midterm tests since Saturday and I'm sick of it. Inbetween I've tried to live. For the past half an hour, I laid on the futon and played Soundscapes on tv and just let my spirit roam. I found myself in places such as my grandparents home in Moab, over to the side of the house where grandpa would retreat to the basement to work on his train set. Then I was driving Mom home from Beaumont Hospital, decades ago, the hot sun beating down on the Nova, as we sped along. I felt the sun on my face, heard the radio playing, saw my Mom, head back on the rest of the seat, her eyes closed after a long and laborious day as a medical secretary, after knowing - all along - she was meant for more.

I ended up on Transmountain, then near Ed's grave. I wondered what Sederwall was doing right now, in the hills of New Mexico?

I opened my eyes and knew I had to flatten and tape up the cardboard before leaving.

Weary, the music and release had taken me somewhere where I could find reprieve. I almost picked up the phone and called my friend Luis to beg him to be my investor. Last night I couldn't sleep after reading about Virtue Ethics for a class. The connections floored me and so much came to light.

It was as evident as the sun on the hood of a car now long gone.