a good year: memories of sixth grade at tuscarora

roadthere she was just a-walkin’ down the street
singin’ do-wah-diddy-diddy down diddy-do
snappin’ her fingers and shufflin’ her feet
singin’ do-wah diddy-diddy down diddy-do *

The words and melody began timidly enough with just a few brave souls chiming in, then, rose slowly by increments as more and more children boarded the school bus. By the time the yellow caravan concluded its four-mile journey
at the foot of the old schoolhouse’s steep steps, the tune had reached a crescendo ricocheting off the surrounding hilltops and stretching to the far reaches of the hamlet called Tuscarora. Continue reading

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today, i wrote something

My husband rarely remembers his dreams. This morning was the exception. The dream went something along these lines. He was returning to his office when he suddenly looked down and realized he wasn’t wearing any pants. Panicked, he couldn’t fathom where they were, how he had lost them, or what he was going to do next. You get the drift. A classic anxiety dream most likely brought about by the existence of some pressing concern at work. Continue reading