Gratitude Journal: 'The Isn't-it-nice-to-be-home-again' Edition

What poet wouldn't feel at home in a city that embeds poetry in its transit stops?
"Late last night so far away... I dreamed myself a dream... "

After what felt like 40 years -- but really was only a few months -- of wandering in the proverbial desert, I'm starting to feel at home again.

I am so grateful for that like-none-other feeling, and for:

~Six hours of quiet in the house today. The Introvert in me got her batteries way charged up.

~My bookshelves, arranged(!).

~The time I spent sorting and organizing notes from old classes and my fabulous former writing groups. It was a sweet walk down memory lane to remember the faces, voices, and stories that surrounded so many of the poems we studied together.

~The 3-inch stack of prompts, jumping-off points, ideas, and other similar poem-seeds that I now have in the second drawer on the left in my writing desk (the Resting Drawer's wise old grandmother...... I'll have to think of a name for it).

~The drafts I had forgotten about, some of which probably have a future.

~The city up the peninsula, San Francisco, and the chance to get to know it like the back of my hand in the coming months and years. The sense of coming home to a city I've only visited once before. Frisco, you were waiting for me the whole time, weren't you? (And yes, I'm a nerd, I just said 'Frisco').

~One word: Kepler's. Okay, more than one word: it's a friendly neighborhood independent bookseller where I would gladly live out the rest of my days (yes, I would miss Husband and the children, but..... the books! the books!). Although it's not in my neighborhood, it's only 20 minutes away and worth the drive. They had me at: "Kepler's presents: Jane Hirshfield, Monday September 12, 7:00 p.m."

~All these things combining to remind me that I'm a poet. Not just a mom. Not just a packer and a mover and an unpacker. Not just a phone caller, school form filler-outer, grocery shopper, bathroom sink wiper-downer. A poet.

Hey, Whoever You Are that's in charge of this crazy life, thanks for the reminder.

(And now for those of you who have James Taylor on the brain):


Ms. WK said...

oh, friend... what is that I sense?

welcome back.

Molly said...

Ms. WK, come see me. It's contagious. :)