twosmallmonsters

I think I have broken through the annual November grumps. Maybe grumps isn't the right word: let's go with dis-connect-edness. I pulled out my big, colorful journal for Wendy and Michelle the other night ago and enjoyed reviewing the pages of crayon and Indian ink scribbles & worries. And yet, annually, I realize the same worries come out. As I stated in 2001, "I am so tired of feeling discombobulated. I feel like my arm is in the bathroom and my leg is in the family room watching Columbo." I spent this weekend energizing by making a mess on the table, couch, and even the floor doing art art art. I am excited to distibute this art when the time comes.

My true grumpiness poured out onto a dear friend in my classroom a few weeks ago. We sat down with cups of coffee to shuffle through the mess and had a beautiful conversation about life. We were stuffed in our classroom, Dana earnestly working on the computer and Traci unafraid to talk about puss.
"But Jenny," he told me "Life isn't in here. It is out there." He pointed out the window and it was dreamily snowing above the parking garage. Nice touch. "You are going to start regretting if you don't write, live, act now. Life is more than this paper. Our grade. This case."

"But I am so nostalgic," I confessed. "The most out of anyone I know. I am already nostalgic for two minutes ago."
"Maybe if we just live in this moment right here there will be no need to return to it nostalgically. You will have rather lived and loved it."

I already know next year I will be in San Diego dreaming of snow falling in Minnesota.