Sunday, December 26, 2010

Sitting In Front of A Computer On A Snowy Morning

Why do I blog? I started thinking about this last night when I recalled that I didn't post for three weeks last year around this time and there was no comment about it.

What is shyness? Is it a short word for being afraid of people? I used to be so shy that if you looked up the word in the dictionary my picture was next to it. I asked them to take it out... I don't know why. It just made me uncomfortable...

Wasn't it a year ago minus a week or so that we had a big snowstorm here in NYC?

My ear still hurts a bit. I guess it's time for visit nine to a doctor about this over a month.

As much as I like a day off, the troubles that snow storms cause are not worth it - and I think it's selfish as a teacher to wish for a snow day (unless it can be one of those very benign ones where we get off on a technicality :))

At 11:28 AM I saw that it started snowing.


Poems On Snow


But one night, through the latticed window, snow
begins to whiten the air, and the tall white pine.
Good bye is the end of every story we know

(From The Story We Know By Martha Collins)

Love me with thine azure eyes,
Made for earnest grantings;
Taking colour from the skies,
Can Heaven's truth be wanting?

Love me with their lids, that fall
Snow-like at first meeting;
Love me with thine heart, that all
Neighbours then see beating.

(From A Man's Requirements By Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

The Answer

By Richard Jones

Tonight, looking for the answer,
I must have killed an hour
flipping through philosophy and poetry books,
every few minutes opening and reading a different title.
I anxiously searched all the places I keep books-
looking in the kitchen, the boys' rooms,
checking the laundry room and workshop,
before going outside finally to the curb
to search through books tossed
in the backseat of the car.
Snow fell straight down in windless silence.
The keys in my left hand jingled like very small bells.
I stopped and tried to remember
what I'd come into the night looking for.

By Langston Hughs

Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow.

The Poem for Frances Brown
(My First Warm Hearth Friend)
By Nikki Giovanni
There are things you know . . . Clouds rise . . . Stars twinkle . . . Snow
melts . . . Rain makes things grow . . . Sunshine warms . . . Trees cool . . .
If you love something . . . You will lose it
But the memory of motion . . . The wonder of the enchantment . . . The
blue of the glacier . . . The blue of the sky . . . The blue in your heart . . .
The reality of conclusion . . .
Through transforming . . . Stays


Something about snow
like a natural blanket
custom made by G-d
Snow across a branch
little is as beautiful;
a Divine brush stroke

I understand snow
Not warm enough to be rain
Nor frozen like ice

Shabbats, like snowflakes
Each unique one melts, is gone
Impressions live on

Recently a colleague was
delilivering a speech
"No two snow flakes
are alike," he said.

Another teacher interrupted,
"That theory's been disproven!"
which to me
proved the point

Part of the snowflake like difference
between every mind and disposition
is that you never know
what's going to click
for someone who is not you.

Snow Trivia Q

Where is the only place that the word snow - sheleg is used in Chumash?


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