March 27, 2009

A Maze Me

Life is a triangle of twisting paths.
Some short. Some long.
There are dead ends. And there are choices.
And wrong turns, and detours, and yield signs,
and instruction booklets, and star maps,
and happiness, and loneliness.
And friends. And sisters. And love.
And poetry.
Life is a maze.
You are a maze.
And amazing.
(My Isa, you are Amazing)

I picked up a lovely little book by Naomi Shihab Nye titled "A Maze Me" – Poems for Girls. I went to the library for story time with Olivia this past Tuesday, but storytime had been canceled so I wondered into the biography section, as my oldest had requested I check her out a biography about either: Martin Luther King Jr. (she has a collection of his story), Einstein or someone important... she didn't care, as long as it was a biography. That's our Isa. Most of the time you'll find her lovely little face covered by a book. In fact, when she was little I read to her so much that she didn't sleep with any stuffed animals, she'd ask to keep the book I'd read to her and she'd tuck it gently by her side, that was her comfort blanket. Isa was enrolled in a book club since she was born... I'd get a book every other month and read it to her ever since she was in my tummy. There came a point I had to cancel the book club, so we'd go to storytime at our local library and then after check out a stack of books. She just loves reading and has a mini library in her walk-in closet! As of now, our little 3rd grader is enrolled in an after school book club program... and re-enrolled all by herself for the next round. I have no doubt our Isa will be something really great in the years to come! I pray the Lord let's me see it in bloom. As of now she says she's going to be a marine biologist. Makes me so proud and I'll be proud of her always!

Reading A Maze Me has given me a moment to get in touch with the little quiet emotions we all experience as little girls. I personally feel like I never really got a chance to be a little girl and if I did, the memories are hidden somewhere deep within. I really just don't remember much until the age of 8. It's a feel good little book. One of my favorites was the following –

* Neklace *
I hope Sunday's slow and long,
steeped like a pot of mint tea.
Soft sun and deep thinking.
Saturday was a crowded calendar page,
a mound of chores.
Could Monday be a porch?
Facing the week. Wednesday a meadow?
Thursday, let's leave
small baskets at everyone's door.
Flowers, notes, stones.
No one does that anymore.
Could a week be strung on a silver chain?
A boat?A tree?
Tuesday as a tree?

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