I had things to do, so many things. I had to write this column, finish a book proposal, edit two reviews and write another. The Easter Bunny required provisions and the daily tasks called -- the groceries, meals, homework, laundry. I also needed to hire a moving company, buy a house on the other side of the world, and figure out how to ship our cat across three continents. We're moving back to Canada in June; I've a lot to arrange, kitty included. I did none of these things. I skipped town.
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We have not discussed bodies placed in the earth that do not biodegrade: substances that degrade. I got a look at these two years ago, when a field near our complex turned into a waste dump. The area, about the size of a soccer pitch, separates our walled parking lot from a Thai primary school, whose students we hear singing patriotic anthems at outdoor assemblies.
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Last month's "Birthing the Mother Writer" column asked readers to submit poems about the mother-daughter relationship. Cassie chose this one by Elise Ambrosio Schneider, which then led to an interesting conversation between the two mother-poets
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All week, I'd been listening, horrified, to NPR news reports of seventeen-year-old Trayvon's murder -- how a self-appointed vigilante gunned him down because he felt threatened by this young black man's presence in his gated community. The murderer, George Zimmerman, who at this writing has yet to be arrested, claims he killed Trayvon in self-defense, despite the fact that he pursued Trayvon, and that Trayvon was armed with nothing more than a packet of Skittles and a bottle of tea. That could be my son. President Obama had the same reaction. "If I had a son," he said, "he'd look like Trayvon."
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With varying levels of dedication, I've been an "enviro" my entire adult life. Before we moved to South Africa, before the twins had even turned two, I bought a thick manual called Teaching Green. I intended to continue green living in Cape Town, and I intended to give my children a precocious environmental education. After that morning at the drop-off, however, I knew my lessons would need some revision.
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