memorandum

I came home after my first meeting over at SH regarding the tutoring I will begin, officially, tomorrow. The coordinator gave me a small stack of materials to review, including copies of the handwritten essays the students wrote about "how technology has influenced their lives." I have yet to read them--I will wait until Leah heads out for her workout class tonight.

But from the handwritten to the typewritten (literally, with a typewriter): after I was through at SH, I opened the door to our apartment and was greeted with Leah's voice: "uh, you can't come in yet. Come back in twenty minutes." So, I went down the street and drank a chocolate malt, talked to my parents about the book festival they just went to, then came back. Came back to find this typewritten poem from Leah on a thick, vintage-looking cardstock that resembled an old library card catalog insertion. Just beautiful.

Together, we have five old manual typewriters that we display on our bookcases, four of which are fully operational. Not only was the entire presentation and content of the poem moving and personally touching, but seeing this product of one our (lately) neglected machines made the entire context even more significant.

Last night she dreamt of lions chasing us: beautiful creatures relinquished into terrifying acts. Grace in destruction.