Betty can count to twenty-four without a hiccup’s pause. It just so happens the latter is as many minutes I’ve been on the computer in the past thirty days. Limited texts, cell phone talks & DVR deleted TV shows have made me fresh. Call it a digital break &, finally, call me well. I read The Help and Child of Mine, cover to cover.

Two weeks in Florida’s sunshine with three little ladies helped me wave good-bye to Mono’s slug pace & Mastitis’ pain.
Wellness. Vacation’s magical dream came true.
It’s almost as if I’ve crawled out of some mossy winter cave & it’s taken me six months to reach the light and say I’m back. This is who I am & who I was, before bed rest, a birth, and newborn’s haze.
Fresh air’s sweetness. I couldn’t wait to surface.
Today, before smoothies and chatty bowls of cereal, we held a dance party in the living room.
Today, I had 394 emails. Really. In my effort to start anew, I deleted them all. Without reading them first. Really. It felt refreshing. I drank my coffee in the sunshine while the girls hunted for rolly polly bugs in the lawn, watched two eagles above our roof.
Today, I remembered this poem by Mary Oliver. I’m done with spreading my tales of wild geese. Finally, fresh and well.
I’m not sure about copyright laws, but I do know you can reproduce in the name of education.

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.


Soon, Easter, Florida & T-Ball photos. Today, searching for our kite. Today, making French bread. All smiles…


  • Deleting 394 unread e-mails is boldy bold bold. And 30 internet-free days sounds like the perfect gift you needed. Good for you for knowing you've missed nothing more important than your own life, health and children.
    Thanks for the wild geese poem; that pretty much sums it all up doesn't it?

  • I feel fresh just reading this! And a Mary Oliver poem, too. Thanks, Jenn. Reading this just made my night.

    Ah, the Florida sun. So glad you found the rejuvination you needed.

  • Marlis says:

    Hey you. This is a poem my Mom shared with me years ago and it is special to both of us…still takes my breath away every time I read it. It's like an instruction manual for life in a most exquisite disguise. And I'm so glad you got your juice back. Good-bye illness and zombieland!

Post a Comment

Your email is never shared. Required fields are marked *