last lessons of the year

I'm in my KinderKeyboard class, and my angelic-faced 1st graders are dutifully playing a song called "Dreaming". Each child must think up something he or she dreams about to finish the song.

Sweet, blond little Katie sings, "I like to dream about prin -cessessess"

Restless, dark-haired Christian sings, "I like to dream about fooooot - ball"

Awkward Preston gets a glint in his big brown eyes. He pauses to consider before singing in a pure, boy-soprano voice: "I like to dream about cockroaches".

His smile as his teacher can't help but laugh repairs something inside me that I didn't even realize was still broken.

Laughter is the best medicine

I have some kind of hideously gross sinus infection, so I can only sleep in 3 hr shifts. There's not a lot to do on Saturday morning at 5 am, so I got on the internet, and found these:

What the hell is up with your author photo? - is a series from a poet's blog where, as you might imagine, he makes fun of other poets' author photos. Read Robert Wrigley's, it made me laugh so hard I cried. And then I had to cough and blow my nose a lot, but it was worth it.

The Poetry of D.H. Rumsfeld - can you tell I was looking up poetry? I like how "The Unknown", taken out of context, is actually kinda deep. Maybe.