I spent the morning reading about Alzheimer's and art therapy. I found an image of a doorway, and cut black foam-core rectangles for students to trace.
Only two students arrived. Both were kind; I reached them socially. But paint/paper/hand remained a mystery.
I watched my student's hand poised above the paper, his eyes closing with fatigue, and thought "This is fine. Drop expectations. Praise. Repeat."Then, of course, there is the continuing news from Hatii.
"Behold, I tell unto you a mystery." All rushing around after lesser things -shows, taxes, deadlines - they amuse us, but they are illusion. Sit with a friend. Call your mother. Hug your spouse.
So today I made sourdough starter. I'll pick up my daughter at noon, give her lift to her old school. And I'll send money to the Red Cross.
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