Thursday, April 19, 2012


...tulips, roses, daffodiles, poppys and other delitefull smells...
So the session on "Mongols and Missionaries" was difficult (another post), and the grading is nuts, and that proposal to the administration is due, and there were five student meetings, and so no time for class prep and hurtling and hurrying seemed to be the only way. And then a notice that Iris has been selected to read a piece of writing at a "celebration of young authors" at the local library, and so we rush through dinner and make it there and throw ourselves down in some seats and only then did my vision clear. And I saw my actually still pretty small daughter up there with a microphone and a piece of paper, and I realized that I had no idea what was on that piece of paper. We knew from dinner conversation that she'd be working on it and "rewriting, as real authors do" we were told, but I realized that I was about to hear something completely new from her, and already it seemed like a gift.  I've since procured a copy of said original writing, and I'm rewriting it here because it's how Iris sees the world, framed through the memory of a place whose possibilities are only growing. She returns with a narrative ease embellished by new details of her imagination, linking her experience there with her desires for the place. I fling myself and my students hither and yon across medieval imaginary landscapes in pursuit of various medieval pursuits of lost Edens, and now here is an imagined return, very close to home. I've kept her spelling, because it's always cooler than the conventional way.

"I once went to JoslĂ©, a town in France. When I was there I found a walkway near the river that rippled by.  I went down the walk way to explore and have adventure. As I was walking a loud bark came into hearing range. I followed the barck to a gate.  When I looked beyond the gate I could barley make out a bridge.  Then I went home.  A few days later, I found out our host (who was currently in Africa and lending the house) was friends with the man who owned the house. I went there and found where the feroshisly loud barck was coming from: a humongous Great Dane! He infited me in and I liked him right away. After that, I visited quite often and once I asked "What lies beyond the house?" That's when I saw the buitifull garden. It smelled of tulips, roses, daffodiles, poppys, and other delitefull smells.  By the way, the names of the men were David and JosĂ©, and the dog's name was Dooby. The place was wonderfull and my only dream is to go back there someday."


  1. Indeed - way to go Iris! :-)

  2. Thank you, Jeffrey - I was deeply moved by the piece you wrote about life and family, the one motivated by the greenery you saw early in the morning. Cathie, your identification of the "inventor" of the goosestep on your blog is brilliant!