The incredible lightness of bean

It's Wednesday. My email is quiet. My chat window is quiet. My job list is quiet. My teachers at Lesley are quiet. My students here at OU are quiet.

I have just made the first sweep of my apartment since I landed here the last week of March, back when the trees were naked and the bricks on the roadways harbored whiskers of frost in the spaces in between. Now, it is brilliantly sunny outside and the boxwood hedges in the neighboring park are waving cones of blossoms so fragrant that the spring bulbs have packed it in and gone to seed.

My video students are adapting their favorite songs to picture and I am so jealous of their young minds, as proud as boxwoods. My own music: Ben, Rickie, Roger, and Donald & Walter are making me dizzy with their pictures. When so much is blooming around you, it is difficult not to get covered in bright, sticky pollen.

But my papers need to find homes in yellow folders and my entreprenuers are waiting for their mission. They are chopping like a thousand fuzzy catapillars on their white papers, their wings of talent practically bursting from their backs.

It will be brown beans for lunch.