Turning Points
I came home today, cold and miserable. It didn't make it to twenty today, and the sparse flakes of the morning and early afternoon must have supped early. They were considerably fatter as I pulled into the driveway. All I could think about was stripping out of my many layers of clothes, pulling on some sweats and propping my puppies up on a pillow. I spent a carefree hour hour cruising my e-mail and favorite message boards, and as my husband was starting dinner, reading the remainder of Nature by Emerson was the most pressing demand upon my mind and time.
Then I wandered downstairs for a cup of coffee, and I noticed that someone had brought the mail in. There were two letters for me: One from the vet with Cassidy's rabies tags enclosed, and another from Chatham University. I tossed the first aside, as Cassidy's outgrowing her puppy collar and I have yet to buy her a new one. It could wait. I picked up the letter from Chatham and looked at it. My name and address was printed on a clear label and affixed to the front. I held the letter up to the light and could see a reply envelope enclosed. I looked at my husband sitting at the dining room table with his crossword puzzle book open in front of him. He had put his pen down. He was grinning.
"No, it's too soon."
"Alright. If you say so."
"Can't be. Not yet." He raised his eyebrows at me. "I mean, I've been getting stuff from them since last fall." I already had my finger in the corner of the envelope and was starting to tear, not too quickly. Just in case.
"Congratulations!" The first word. That didn't sound like a sales pitch.
"I am pleased to inform you that you have been admitted to Chatham University's Master of Fine Arts in Writing program beginning in the Fall Semester of 2008."
I do believe I am now bona fide.
Till later...
Then I wandered downstairs for a cup of coffee, and I noticed that someone had brought the mail in. There were two letters for me: One from the vet with Cassidy's rabies tags enclosed, and another from Chatham University. I tossed the first aside, as Cassidy's outgrowing her puppy collar and I have yet to buy her a new one. It could wait. I picked up the letter from Chatham and looked at it. My name and address was printed on a clear label and affixed to the front. I held the letter up to the light and could see a reply envelope enclosed. I looked at my husband sitting at the dining room table with his crossword puzzle book open in front of him. He had put his pen down. He was grinning.
"No, it's too soon."
"Alright. If you say so."
"Can't be. Not yet." He raised his eyebrows at me. "I mean, I've been getting stuff from them since last fall." I already had my finger in the corner of the envelope and was starting to tear, not too quickly. Just in case.
"Congratulations!" The first word. That didn't sound like a sales pitch.
"I am pleased to inform you that you have been admitted to Chatham University's Master of Fine Arts in Writing program beginning in the Fall Semester of 2008."
I do believe I am now bona fide.
Till later...
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