It’s been a busy week. I’m in the middle, as of today, of an 11 days in a row stretch at work. The good news…I will have the next two weekends, yes I said two, off. Hopefully Greg and I will get up to the orchid exhibit at the Cleveland Botanical Gardens next weekend. In two weeks my dad will be up for his spring visit and my nieces birthday celebrations. We have him at our place from Wednesday night – Saturday. We’re planning to take him to Bricco for dinner on one of those evenings. Probably Thursday or Friday.

Yesterday at work I saw my 6th grade English teacher Mrs. Krahl. She was here for the Regional Spelling Bee Finals. At the end of the bee I went up to her and introduced myself. She was so sweet. She said that she could tell me exactly how old I was, she was right on. I think she may have had a child my age, or she’s a genius. She asked about my sister and father, then asked me if I was married or had any children. I told her that I have been with my partner Greg for 8 years. She smiled broadly, gave me a hug and thanked me for coming out to her. It was so simple and so sweet. It really affected me, I teared up a little on my way home, thinking about our short exchange. And I got choked up again telling Greg the story.  It seems like I have been out for ages. I came out to my two best friends (on their work voice mail) the night that Ellen came out on her sitcom. I guess I’ve sort of taken the coming out process for granted. But her simple thank you meant the world to me.

She was a great teacher, though I hated the vocabulary lists and quizzes at the time. One of my favorite parts of her class was when she had us all memorize a poem about a tree by Joyce Kilmer.  I think that Jenny Huff Kee mentioned it in her “25 things about me” post on facebook.  Here’s the poem:

I THINK that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day.

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.