Four Adirondack Chairs
. . . were in our carport yesterday. I assembled all of 'em last night while watching NBA Playoff basketball. They were made out of cedar, so the whole living room smelled like cedar trees. There's something special about an Adirondack chair--they make me want to sit and do nothing for hours on end.
It's the end of the fourth week of the quarter . . . six more weeks to go. Oh. My. God.
I had to blurt out what I'll be teaching for next year. Off the top of my head: "The Historical Collection." So . . . help. Got any poetry/short story/ non-fiction pieces that deal with a historical event? I've got Nicole Cooley's The Afflicted Girls in mind. Got any others? Anyway, this sort of syncs up with my own current poetry project.
My students hate writing in iambic pentameter.
Cue: Ghoulish chortle.