B O U N D L E S S

"Did you like this one?" "The one by Tsukiyama? I haven't read that one yet, but you can borrow it." "What about this Donald Hall memoir?" "No. Not yet. But I'm sure it's good. I love his writing." "Well, I don't want to borrow one you haven't read yet." "Okay. Let me look..." It's true. I suffer from tsundoku. As a teacher and avid reader, I am surrounded by books. I arrange them in artistic piles with blue stones I collect on the shores of Lake Superior. My collection of bird feathers is framed and perches on another stack. They're on night stands, kitchen counters, and in hand-woven baskets.  I force myself to purge my collection every year, but it's truly a struggle because books bring me joy...all of them. I don't buy joyless books.  Growing up, I was never that little girl who played princesses and dreamed about who I was going to marry and how many kids we'd have. ...

Just Outside of Kansas She wanted to wear the ruby red slippers with the kitten heels because their tapping echoes could slice through the silence of the dimly lit room littered with yoga mats. She wanted to click her heels together to announce her self as she waded through sweating contortionists balancing and breathing in lycra-clad symbiotic communion. Root tendrils crept then burrowed into the floor through the wood and concrete to the compacted earth below - they perched on single tree trunk legs and stretched their fingerling branches toward realization. She could only think of her scarlet slippers and the way they cupped her sore feet while she step-ball-changed down the yellow road looking for home. Golden eagles exploded across the cold sky like arrows to the clouds piercing the arctic blue of enlightenment, only to fall short of the sun. But those blood-red sequined slippers repelled witches and other terrors of the dark wood...

If I close my eyes, I can still see her leaning over the kitchen counter. Her mom jeans are rolled at the ankle because she couldn't find a petite size at JC Penneys. Painted chickadees dance across her Christmas sweatshirt.  Her blue pen hovers over the notepad. In teacher-perfect swooping cursive she writes: Pork loin Potatoes Pie crust Frozen squash Rhodes rolls Pistachio pudding (sugar free) Maraschino cherries Walnuts Mini marshmallows 1 can of crushed pineapple Then, she reaches for her purse that weighs as much as most people's carry-on luggage. She makes sure she has her checkbook and pops half a stick of Doublemint gum into her mouth. "Are you ready?" she asks.  Mom.  My mom taught me to make lists. She made shopping lists, Christmas lists, to-do lists, classroom supply lists, and reminder lists.    When you feel overwhelmed, make a list.                        ...