My roommate is in town, leaving me on kitten/dish duty. Amos the carpenter is coming to put in a new floor that (hopefully) won't try to trip me to death every morning, so there's a huge mound of sand right in front of our porch steps waiting for his arrival at '8:00' or the Liberian equivalent. I need climbing gear to scale the pile of laundry-to-be-done in the corner of my room. If I don't use the bananas today they will aquire consciousness and possibly take over West Africa. I have 400 final exams and 200 make-up quizzes to grade. There is a rampaging horde of children at the well causing noise, spilling water, and taking forever to fill their buckets, holding up all my other chores. And yet.
And yet the mist over the hills is gorgeous, keeping the heat and bright sun of dry season at bay for a little while. My lap is full of purring baby cat curled up in a little ball of peace. A very kind blind man carried two pumpkins to us yesterday (word of our 'pumpkin business' conversation with Ben last month has spread all over town) so I get pumpkin soup for dinner today and tomorrow. The semi-sentient bananas are going to be delicious banana bread in a few hours. I have faith that at least half my students will pass my class this marking period. And I am here, alive in this moment, looking ahead (forward?) to a full day after a full week in a full month of the hardest and most amazing year of my life to date. Maybe I have a blessings list and not a to-do list. I can see how people love 6:30 in the morning.
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