The Surface Sometimes Cracks...to Reveal the Tracks...

You know, I’ve actually been here before.

Different circumstances, but a very similar feeling of heartbreak over pinning my hopes on something over which I had no control, but a compulsion to follow.

(Forgive me if you have heard this story already. I can't remember if I ever wrote it here, though I know I've told it out loud.)

It’s spring of 1990. Jim Henson is still alive, my hair is terribly tall, I am ironically wearing leggings and long sweaters, just like now, and I am similarly adrift. I’m sort of still “with” Chris, worried about my family back home, “experiencing” my freshman year at college, but not really there. No community, no anchor, only one friend, and a complete lack of certainty about what’s around the bend in the road. And then I took a theater class and met Dan, who sat beside me each day, listened to my laments about my boyfriend back home, and took pity on me, tribe-less and lost, and brought me to lunch at the dining common with him one May afternoon, where I met a boy named Bill, and lost my heart at once. When I expressed my interest in this quirky, funny, flirty boy to Dan, he pronounced it a brilliant choice (which I did NOT, at the time, read as a brilliant substitution for my affection for him while he spent the following year in England) and pledged to do all that he could to help me win this boy.

And to his credit, he did. He sent me a photograph of him that I taped into my journal, wrote me letters through the summer with details of Bill’s little interests and experiences, and it all fed the flame. I spent the entire summer trying to get over Chris, and planning and plotting how I would make this elusive Bill-boy love me as soon as September rolled around.

I created a soundtrack (of course) which included songs about destiny and conquest and included titles like “Will You Marry Me Bill” and “One Fine Day” and “Long Before I Knew You.” And may I take this opportunity to remind you…I had met him ONCE. One time. One dining common lunch which included chocolate milk and a jello fight. For the two months that followed, I sang to him in my car, wrote his name is curly script in my journal, and named our hypothetical children.

September came, and I decided that rather than audition for the show he was writing and directing and risk NOT being cast, I would apply to be assistant director. I got the job, and of course saw that as a “sign” that our destinies were knit, and it was only a matter of time. I attended the pre-show meetings, the auditions, and the first rehearsals, wearing short skirts and giggling and flirting as if I had declared it as a major.

Then he called and told me he was gay.

He was so nice about it, so compassionate as he quietly broke my heart into a gazillion pieces. No pretense, no attitude, nothing to make me feel foolish, just sensitivity and kindness, for which I will be ever grateful.

There was all kinds of weeping and wailing and lamenting to my non-theatrical and very astonished room-mate, and a whole new soundtrack of dramatically tragical songs of heartbreak and dashed hopes, and I slowly talked myself down from the rafters.

I actually feel like that now, about this house. I did the same sort of plotting, planning, envisioning, and Co-Creating with the Universe, and it didn’t go my way.

Except…

If I hadn’t been crying into my Bartles and James wine coolers over Bill at a cast party, I never would have been found by Elise and sworn my life-long devotion to her that day. I might not have been a part of Schoolhouse Rock at all, and then there’d have been no Janna, no Pete, no UMTG... no Patrick. (And to extend it out, no Amelia and Abby making Greek Mythology posters just for fun here in the Vacation House living room.) If I hadn’t asked Dan to give me the skinny about Bill, we might not have started writing, and I might have missed one of my life’s most significant relationships. Where would be? Who would I be now? I shudder to think.

I'm coming around to seeing the destiny in all of it, to knowing that sometimes you have to crack things open to see a path you hadn't considered before, to understanding that Good Things often come in Unexpected Packages. I'm getting there.

I know that tomorrow will find me pulling myself up by my flowered boot-straps and scanning the listings and setting my sights on a new and hopefully better house-of-dreams. Today, I’m still wallowing and reading trashy vampire novels and drinking a Fauxmopolitan, which is basically a big-girl version of Bartles and James Wild Berry Wine Coolers, truth be told. And that’s okay. Because as Maria would say, when your heart gets broken, you cry a little, and wait for the sun to come out. Rumor has it…the sun’ll come out tomorrow.

See? I’m already quoting the corniest of musicals. I must be on the mend.

Onward.

When it rains....

...it freaking pours.

I left my coffee in the car this morning, and did not have enough time to go back out in the rain to get it. You'd think that in a school of 1000 people, a girl could get a decent cup of freaking coffee in this place.

AND, I just found out that Michael Feinstein is closing on Broadway next week, which is crushing because I was totally going to get to see that in July AND meet Michael Feinstein because I know someone in the show, and I was going with Jamie, who knows everyone. No meeting Michael Feinstein. No singing a little duet with him on the ghost-lit empty stage. No making wild monkey love on a grand piano while he croons Gershwin in my ear. Yes, that TOTALLY could have happened. (Well, if either of our husbands would have allowed it.)

Too many dreams dashed for one day.

Why I Don't Gamble

I took a risk in selling my yellow house for the hope of getting this new and better house, and though it's not definite that we're not going to get it, we got some bad news today that makes it look unlikely.

And though I'm going to try not to be bitter, and try not to raise my fist against the sky and lament the unfairness of the Universe that I put so much faith in...I'm still choking on disappointment right now. The sellers are in a giant mess from their credit cards and their irresponsible lifestyle, and so now we lose out.

And I'm going to try not to be overly dramatic, but there's something wrong with a country where the people who work the hardest and try to live a good, responsible life have to pay for the mistakes of the ones who spend their Christmas in Hawaii. I spent mine scrubbing my house from top to bottom for the new people to move in.

So while I know we'll find somewhere to go, and that we'll find something adequate, I know there will be no room of my own, because that will be the first luxury on the list to go. And I know I'm going to miss that most of all.

You'll not be spotting me at Foxwoods anytime soon. Or ever.

Seven Things

Here are seven things I'm happy about:

1.) It is the Happy Six, the six month half of my year where I get home, and I'm done. I don't have other work to do. I don't have staging to write or emails I have to send or anything besides caring for my family and watching too much TV and reading Good Books or Trashy Books or all of my back issues of Real Simple. It's been hard to relax into that since I am not at my own home, but I'm doing the best I can. So I'm happy about that.

2.) Next weekend is Easter, and though it brings with it the yearly why-are-you-damning-your-children-to-hell-for-not-giving-them-Jesus business, it also brings chocolate covered peeps and the Saads Easter egg hunt, whihc is one of my favorite days. We have pictures of the kids from when they were tiny, tearing through the Saads' giant back yard in mud boots or winter coats or short sleeves. The parents stand about with cameras and mimosas, and in most of the years, we've had a new baby to sniff and coo over. This year, we've got Maya's debut, and there's something about new babies and Easter and daffodils and crocuses and Cadbury Mini Eggs that remind you that life goes on, and spring can fix almost anything, if you let it.

3.) Glee will be coming back soon.

4.) My mom took the girls last night so Patrick and I could have a date, and that was...good. I don't write about my marriage here, nor do I intend to now, but it was a good evening. We went to see my cousin MaryKate competed in the Mass Drama Festival, and she was stupendous. It was fun for Patrick to come there to watch her in Boston because he had competed there in high school, and then we tromped around Boston until we were tired. Which was at, like 8:00 p.m., 'cause we're super old, but we still had fun.

5.) Amelia has a feis today, and though it causes me suffering to endure a day's worth of skiddle-dee-diddle music and a seeming lack of organization, I'm always glad that I can bring her to do a thing she loves, see her be excellent, and know that nothing else I have to do today is more important than that.

6.) Though I may be homeless in four weeks, I know I have places I can go, people who will have us in our hour of need. It's a very comforting feeling.

7.) I got invited to have tea with Elizabeth Berg. Yes, THAT Elizabeth Berg. Only twenty people got invited, and though it's at an inconvenient time, I'm totally going. Because I got invited to sit down for two hours with my favorite author. When does that happen?

I'm stopping at seven things I'm happy about, because seven is a magical number and that's what I declared, but a little P.S. is...I could have kept on going. I could have listed 101 things that I'm happy about right now, and that's what I'm most grateful for.

Keep the cheer coming, Universe. I really appreciate it. Right down to my toes.

Kodachrome

I’ve been asked to blog.

Actually, twice today I was asked, by two different people. I wonder, sometimes, why anyone reads this. Is it because they actually already love me to some extent, and want to hear my little stories because I don’t have time to call them on the telephone, or is it because someone enjoys how I put things, or how I spend my days as a mother/teacher/writer/wife (but not necessarily in that order)? Or is it because they know that they are hearing a voice struggling to emerge after a long, long climb? I don’t know. But whatever the reason, if that someone is you, thanks for visiting me.

Someone wise, one of the wisest, recently speculated that I probably am using this particular life journey to make up for some past-life where I was unable to speak out. My goal this time ‘round is to find my voice, to stand up loud for who I am and what I think. I am inclined to agree, and embracing that knowledge has infused a new energy in my life that is propelling me forward. It’s quite a recent development, a long time in the making.

I am not who I was one year ago. I am not who I was six months ago, or four months ago. I am all of the sudden someone new, a person I have been working toward.

I don’t know how I’ll be in the world yet. I know that I can finally say that there are things I know for certain. There are friends I know for certain. There are goals I have for certain and their inevitability is iron-clad. And I knew it all along, so I can trust the realization now. I have the perspective as I near 40 that I really, really hoped I’d have. Not rose-colored, not sepia-tinted, but maybe a tiny bit Kodachrome. You know that color of the 1960’s Disney Live-Action movies, like Summer Magic and That Darn Cat? Like that.

I am celebrating my 40th birthday by going on a vacation with a group of my women friends. And there will be some drama, and some ruffled feelings, but mostly, there will be connection, and a real celebration of where we’ve been, and where we’re going. That is precisely how I want to spend my 40th birthday.

My new house is part of this, I know. I am Envisioning with all of the passionate energy my spirit can muster. And, if I may be so bold, that is a significant amount. It’s time for that phone call, the one where they say, “It’s yours. It’s time. Welcome Home.” It’s time.

Sea Fever

That picture of Amelia was posted because she is entering a contest to win a trip to the new Harry Potter Themepark from the Ellen Degeneres show. The tag line for the contest is: "Do you have a precocious child who knows everything about Harry Potter?" Why, indeed I do. She wrote an essay immediately, and I've been trying to post her entry but am having trouble with the link.

She's absolutely, positively convinced that she will win, and I see no reason whatsoever to dissuade her.

The pond behind the vacation house was in a frenzy during this storm, but more than anything, it made me miss the ocean. I am not often overly nostalgic for my childhood home in Hull, but storms bring my spirit back there immediately. I think that when you're born to it, there's no removing the salt from your blood. I very nearly drove down there on Sunday just to watch the waves. (But went to see Percy Jackson instead...there's got to be some Poseidon connection in there somewhere.)

One of the few poems I've always had memorized is the one by John Masefield that goes:

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

I know there's a piece of my soul infected with Sea Fever, the gypsy in me, and she gets a little wound up when the Nor'easters come.

Random Stuff

I need a name for the sort of blog entries that are just random bits and pieces of my life, odds and ends, scattered pictures...I don't know. In damomma she calls them "Vinagrettes," which is a clever wordplay on vignettes but also means that she cooks real food and can lay claim to such a pun. So far, I can get past gross ones, like "Brain Lint" or "Droppings." I'm still working on it.

Anyhoo...here's a few of the things rattling about in here...

~After every show I do, a major component of Pajama Done Day is cleaning out my car. I had no Pajama Done Day this time, and so my car, and the parts of my spirit that are directly reflected by my car, are still in utter disarray. The bedspread from Claire's bed is still in there, as well as random other props and several items of throw-away tupperware from production week lunches. It's not a pretty sight, but it is a clear snapshot of how I feel. This weekend, we cleanse.

~I tend to not get too excited about "real" holidays, such as the 4th of July or Valentine's Day, generally finding them over-rated and anti-climactic. (Except Christmas, of course, which is just a whole entire month of Yay.) I much prefer my own made up holidays, Faux Christmas, Pajama Done Day, Flip-Flop Ice-Cream-Sundae Day. But I actually really do like St. Patrick's Day, and I'm sorry to say that it's much less for the celebration of my heritage than it is for the great big smelly pot of corned beef and cabbage.

~One of my students blurted out in the middle of class this morning that he was moving at the end of the month and I burst into tears in front of the entire class. Yeah. Classy.

~My book club (Yes, Really!) is currently reading Atlas Shrugged, which I've always wanted to read. The thing is...it's REALLY heavy, I mean to carry around, and it has 1168 pages. And so far, not one single saucy scene. If there's not a sexy scene soon, I'm hitting the cliff notes. I like the writing, though, and have underlined a lot of things. Here's a description of a symphony:

"It was a symphony of triumph. The notes flowed up, they spoke of rising and they were rising itself, they were the essence and the form of upward motion, they seemed to embody every human act and thought that had ascent as its motive. It was a sunburst of sound, breaking out of hiding and spreading open. It had the freedom of release and the tension of purpose. It swept space clean, and left nothing but the joy of an unobstructed effort. Only a faint echo within the sounds spoke of that from which the music had escaped, but spoke in laughing astonishment at the discovery that there was no ugliness or pain, and there never had had to be. It was the song of an imense deliverance."

Pretty, right? But it's on page 13. Now I'm on page 60. Only 1108 to go.

~The chef at my coffee shop where I go every morning greets me by name. It makes me feel good.

~Even though I've been teaching Ancient Cultures for five years, I still pretty much hate it. I can't get excited about stuff that happened so freaking long ago. The only part I kind of like is the Greek Mythology, but even with that, I can't help thinking that they were all just really, really stupid to accept the mythology as true. And whenever I have a student who says something like, "Did Athena REALLY come fully grown out of Zeus' head?" I want to say, "You stupid ass." I never do, though. I only call them an ass in my head.

~I saw The Blind Side with my mom last night and loved it. I loved Sandra Bullock in it, but the kid who played SJ, the 8 year old son, stole the whole movie for me. That was seriously one of the best kid performances I've ever seen. I also saw Alice in Wonderland this week, and loved that, too. I have never been impressed by Johnny Depp, but I liked his Mad Hatter very much.

~Amelia is going to a swimming birthday party on Sunday night at a pool with waterslide. I get very anxious about waterslides since I almost drowned in one once. There were two big ones in my town that my parents wouldn't ever let me go to, so one day I snuck there with Suzi Gaudette (she lived in walking distance), and at the bottom, I got stuck in the whirlpool and almost drowned. And while I was there, under the water, with people landing on top of me, I remember thinking, "I'm totally going to drown now, and I'm also going to be in really big trouble because I wasn't supposed to be here in the first place." I still hate waterparks for that reason.

~My blog entries are too freaking long, just like my play was. I sort of can't help myself, though. I don't think I'm a very good editor.

~A tiny little reveal...unexpectedly, I started writing my book this week. It just kind of happened, even without my kitchen table for inspiration. I'm a little bit excited.

TGIF. :)

Sixth Grade Moments

Someone in my class came back from gym wearing Love's Baby Soft today. Remember that smell? Try. I'll bet you can bring it right back. I had some when I was maybe 13, and it always smelled to me like Things About to Happen. By the time I was old enough to wear it (which would be...what? Sixteen, maybe?) I didn't want to anymore.

The boys in sixth grade still spray Axe all over themselves. Ever smelled that? It smells like...some combination of Trying Too Hard and Gym Socks Coverup. Not enjoyable.

We are holding auditions today for Greek Mythology plays, so I've now heard the tale of Demeter and Persephone and Echo and Narcissus told over 7 times. There's one girl with a terrible lisp who insists on getting up and trying repeatedly. She's the bravest girl in this room, I swear to God, especially since she read for Persephone and one of her lines, in response to eating the pomegranate seeds, is "Juicy." Go on...say it out loud. See? Brave.

The gayest boy in my class (and I inevitably have one or two...they send them to me special, as you might imagine) has read quite fabulously for Narcissus, and I simply will have to cast him in the role for my own pleasure and amusement. He'll be happy, I'll be happy, the kids will snicker, but he will literally be having too much fun to care.

Sometimes I get overwhelmed by how much courage they all have, to just show up in my wacky classroom, to audition for a play, or to read books with hugely intense themes like abandonment death, even if they've recently lost a parent, which two of my kids have in the past year. I have children of poverty, one whose father is in jail, one who's father was shot to death in front of his eyes a year ago, another with chronic arthritis who still insists on playing a monkey in the school play, kids with weight issues, learning issues, neglect issues...and yet they write their essays and answer their comprehension questions and discuss the metaphors and similes in Tuck Everlasting and can name the major rivers in India.

Meanwhile, I registered my daughters for summer camp this morning, where they will take swimming lessons and Amelia will learn to ride a horse (Abby's still afraid) and they've already been to see a Broadway show. Three times. They're at the top of their class, both of them, and are stable and safe and loved. The injustice of it all overwhelms me some days, but all I can do is to try to make a safe haven for these twelve year olds, teach them novels about kids their age who overcome difficulties with fortitude and gumption, and distract them with lessons on mummies and the Hanging Gardens of Babylon and the Terra Cotta Army in China.

It seems the least I can do.

Seeking Spring

It is my goal this year to be connected to the Spring. That’s part of the lesson I’m learning by reading all of these Anne of Green Gables books for the past several weeks. I need to get out there in the world, in the air, and soak it all in.

I walked in the woods today, on this fragrant spring afternoon, and could feel layers of winter falling away. The mud was squishy under my flowered Doc Martins and the sunlight dappled the wind-blown sticks and leaves and tree limbs that cluttered the paths. Feet will toss these branches out of the way on other warming afternoons, or cheerful dogs will pick them up and make them temporary playthings, and the path will be worn clear again. I’m sure many people have walked the path I followed today, but it was my first time there. I like knowing that there’s further to go, more to find, and lots of other tree-filled places that I haven’t met yet.

I still feel vaguely guilty that I had woods behind my Yellow House that I never fully got to know. In those years when the girls were small, I had so much to focus on that I never really ventured beyond my porches, overlooking it all. Being somewhat homeless right now has made me interested in exploring places I have yet to discover. I didn’t expect that to happen as a result of this tumultuous time.

Next week will be daylight savings time. When I was in college, I inevitably had an adventure during the weekend of daylight savings time. While my days of adventuring have ended…or, at least, morphed into some horribly grown-up version of adventure…there still exists the thrill of possibility, of a great big leap into a new phase full of extra sunshine and daffodils. Just like Anne, the spring is alive and I intend to be alive in it.

I am going to start keeping my boots in my car, just to have them ready at a moment’s notice. I am going to be more in tune to spontaneous invitations from the spring to come in, take a walk, listen, and see what might be revealed.

An Open Letter to My Office in My Soon to Be House…

Visualizing tonight, because I believe it helps to speed the process along. I think I'm looking forward to this space most of all. In my office, the walls are a dark rosy-pink…I’m not sure why, but I think it has something to do with the quilt I bought for my dorm in my freshman year in college. Plus, it matches Lisa’s fainting couch. (I’m sure I’ve told you the story behind Lisa’s fainting couch. If I haven’t, I should. We’ve got a history together.)

In my Office there’s a tin-topped table from the 1940’s that serves as my desk. It has been in my kitchen for the past five years, ever since I got it from my mother in law…it had been her mother’s, and now it is mine. I love it because…something like that is a tie between people. (And because I love my mother in law.) You sit at a kitchen table and have a cup of tea. You write a love letter there. You receive news – joyful and heartbreaking but important. I have, and at least two generations before me have, too. And, my grandmother had a table just like this one, where she laughed with Aunt Liz and twisted a hanky in her hands with worry and wrote recipes. I have some of those recipes still.

You know…that had been my original plan for my book about my families. It would be objects that would jump you from one woman’s story to another, weaving them all together. A beaded purse, an afghan, a tea pot…I feel like I have blogged all of this before. I shouldn’t give any more away.

I might have found my beginning, my launching point, but to do it, to start it, I need my table back. I need to be sitting in my pink office, with my feet on the fainting couch, my cup of tea on my table beside me.

I feel the need to have a space like this, a space to decorate and fill with some things that ground and support me. My pictures, my scrapbooks, my silly little treasures from my childhood, flowers and pillows and books books books books. And not to be selfish or exclusive of my family, because they’re all parts of me, too, and welcomed in my Office. But everyone will have that, for themselves. Their own corner of the sky. They won’t feel guilty about it, and I shouldn’t either.

So weird that I do, though. But that's a topic for another day.

So, in my new office, I will have my own version of the Dewy Decimal System. It’ll be the Kelly Chronicles Decimal System. Categories will include: "The Manuals" – containing the books that made me me. You know the ones. And there will be ones I bought because they had an intruiging cover but haven’t gotten to yet; that will be the "Friends I Haven’t Met Yet" category. Then there are the ones that I really should have read by now – Jane Eyre and Swann’s Way and Atlas Shrugged and Ted Kennedy’s book and Pride and Prejudice. (I always think I read that, and then realize that it was just repeated readings of Sense and Sensibility. Or maybe it was the movie. Anyhooo…)

In this office will be a very organized scrapbook closet, so things could be made a moment’s notice. The girls’ computer and TV will be in there too, so they will feel a part of it and welcome there when they need mothering. Their bedrooms will be for when they need privacy. I hope to help them find the balance of that. I hope I will learn to be better able to find the balance of that. Sometimes I think this little office, this Room of My Own will be a place to help me on that path. There will be many other spaces that we will share as a family together, but those are also topics for another day.

My psychic friend Carole once led me on a visualization for finding my Sanctuary. It was very cool, and in my vision I saw a room just like this one that I am imagining now, creating now, books and pillows and teacups, and now I’m making it happen. I love that I can do that. I am so eager to do that.

So, I want this house for a whole bunch of reasons, and this is the one I wanted to write about tonight. Patrick is out at Guys’ Night, which evidently actually consists of barbeque, scotch, and Lord of the Rings. And probably some bacon in there somewhere. I am watching Twilight like a brooding seventh grader, eating Twizzlers and waxing poetical about pillows, tappity tapping on my laptop, wondering if I am writing a journal entry or a blog.

I Didn't Create This...

...but totally could have.

Collide- Romantic Movie Couples
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TyZZp3BLuE8

So, I didn't make this up myself, but it terrifies me that someone took this song (which I love and used for the "romance scene" in my play) and made a romantic movie collage including clips from Anne of Green Gables AND The Sound of Music and the Notebook, among others. I think I have a mind-reading/journal-reading stalker, or else there is some other sappy, chick-flick loving romantic who is just as geeky as I am. I celebrate you, Random Sapppy Chick. We are kindred spirits indeed.

Bring Home the Spring

I feel like I am beginning to come back to life. The process of this last play was exhilarating, one of my favorite productions and proudest moments. There were some issues, onstage and off, but generally, I was proud that it turned out well, proud that the script was well received, proud that I wrote a gay teenaged character without even deigning to ask permission, proud that I cast a totally green newbie Romeo who had an amazing growth experience. I'm so happy that it happened.

And so happy that it's over and that I have new space to fill.

I'm filling that space slowly. Episodes of "The Good Wife," the entire Anne of Green Gables series (the latter ones of which I haven't read in at least 15 years.) Making things in the crockpot. Washing the bedding and cleaning out bins of random kid stuff. Planning trips to VT and NY to see two of my favorite women, and putting more energy into the visualization and realization of our new home, which I expect to come through Any Moment Now.

I intend to do lots of blogging about...well, not sure yet. I am going to listen to the Spring to guide my footsteps a little bit here. I'll know what to write when I find it.

I've gotten up to Anne's House of Dreams (#6), but here is a passage from Anne of Avonlea about the spring that I love:


Anne, on her way to Orchard Slope, met Diana, bound for Green Gables, just where the mossy old log bridge spanned the brook below the Haunted Wood, and they sat down by the margin of the Dryad's Bubble, where tiny ferns were unrolling like curly-headed green pixy folk waking from a nap.

"I was just on my way to invite you to help me celebrate my birthday on Saturday," said Anne.

"Your birthday? But your birthday was in March!"

"That wasn't my fault," laughed Anne. "If my parents had consulted me, it would never have happened then. I should have chosen to be born in spring, of course. IT must be delightful to come into the world with the mayflowers and violets. You could always feel that you were their foster-sister. But since I didn't, the next best things is to celebrate my birthday in the spring. Priscilla is coming over Saturday and Jane will be home. We'll all four start off to the woods and spend a golden day making the acquantance of the spring. We none of us really know her yet, but we'll meet her back there as we never can anywhere else. I want to explore all those fields and lonely places anyhow. I have a conviction that there are scores of beautiful nooks there that have never really been seen although they may have been looked at. We'll make friends iwth wind and sky and sun, and bring home the spring in our hearts."