A Loaf of Bread

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The Bud

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This morning I got up at four for my usual routine. I don't try to wake up at that time. It comes naturally. Some meditation, some pranayama, some qi-gong, a buttered coffee. Soon, the kids are awake, pretend to be some sort of creature they call The Bud. When we've asked our older daughter what kind of animal it is, she says it's a mystery. What isn't a mystery is that The Bud can get into all sorts of mischief for which he or she will be blamed. Some type of scapegoat. When The Bud is awake at 5 a.m., we know it's going to be a rough morning. I won't miss The Bud when its forgotten. It is by turns whiny, hysterical, and disruptive. Nothing like The Bud could exist in nature because the other animals would consume it out of sheer annoyance. I drive to Lawrence for a medical clearance for my new job. No one tells me anything about it. Turns out to be a drug test. For what? No idea. A man stands outside the door as I piss into a cup. I'm not allowed to wash m...
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Home

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An evening snow turned quickly into a heavy rain, warm enough to make whatever lay on the ground dense and heavy, but not enough to wash it away. My front driver-side tire has a slow leak. Two months ago, it was the passenger-side. I had been hoping to get it fixed, but changed my mind watching a neighbor's car skid and slide along the road before he turned around and went home. Normally, I cram my spare time with books and diversions. After shoveling the driveway, I now have a rare moment when I'm not sure how to proceed. A mouse knocked an empty carafe out of our downstairs food cabinet. That must be cleaned. I was in the habit of drinking good tea before the pandemic, using ceramic vessels and quality leaf imported from places like Yunnan and Fujian. My tea tools gather dust, but I look at them now and then. They don't seem angry to me -- angry at going unused. They seem to evoke patience. Tea of this sort is best enjoyed with conversation. Still maybe I'll grab a ke...
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School

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Since leaving my publishing industry job in September, I've been working as a substitute teacher, hoping to find something permanent.  For context, there is a severe shortage of substitute teachers. For good reason. The pay is horrible -- less than what you would make working in a cafe. Some students see the substitute as an excuse for the sort of behaviors you are being hired to curtail. You are enmeshed in some power nightmare of Foucault's -- continually trying to limit minor infractions -- hats, hoots, ear buds, vape pens, phones, face masks -- while the students vigilantly seek to ignore the rules. Of course students, districts, schools, grades -- all these matter in how much work I need to spend as an enforcer.  Given all this, there is a pleasure in being a substitute teacher. Subs are needed, after all, and you sense your own importance, in some humble way. You never experience a crisis of meaning. Your presence means some teacher didn't have to step in and had a fr...
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