On fog, hope, and the waning summer that never really got here, or so it seems

I'm up, and it is foggy out. And foggy in my head. I did a whole lotta reading yesterday; I read/annotated a book we are required to get through for professional development, one that involved a lot of neuroscience-y stuff. It is about switching schools to a trauma-informed model, which I'm in favor of, for the most part. Kids who live with trauma, who live in precarious situations, can't learn without both supports and some guidelines. We need to figure out what the underlying causality is, and work from there. Punishment models of "education" only breed resentment. 

The other reading I did was far more "in my lane," as it is the preview copy of a long poem by Christopher Merrill for which I have been asked to write a review. The book comes out this fall, so I have a little flex time to get that done. It's interesting, so far, and requires me to dig a little into some Ukrainian history and politics that predate the current situation, but that also informs the reader about the historical relevance of the war in Ukraine. 

I am also trying to finish a book that I'm reading for pleasure. I went out on the deck to read in the sun, but the breeze was a little chilly to just sit, so I investigated my sad little garden. It's not that sad, really, just way behind. The beans are finally in full blossom. I have these weird little golf-ball cucumbers, and there are a few small tomatoes. There's a 2-inch long zucchini-- there were two of them, but slugs got one. 

There will be precious little coming out of the garden this year, I'm afraid. And very few apples-- the wild weather knocked some of them off the tree that actually has fruit. So, we'll have probably enough to make one tiny pot of applesauce. Sigh.

It's Sunday, it's a little cooler than I'd like, and, as I said, foggy. I'm hopeful of a dry, warm day. My pool water is dang cold, so that's not going to happen for a week, probably. If at all; the long-range forecast does not bode well for warming up the pool. I hope we can use it a few more times. I know-- I'm repeating myself. 

I'll close today with a quote from Alexander Pope:

“Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never Is, but always To be blest.”

― Alexander Pope, An Essay on Man

Have a great day,

C