Grading papers is one of the least loved responsibilities of most teachers and certainly not a favorite pastime of mine.
It is probably one of the tasks I bid farewell with the most glee when I retired from teaching human beings and switched to AI.
Little did I know, I would be toiling over their interpretations of various responses to prompts, as I have for multiple decades, and with much the same amount of enthusiasm.
I will say, I have not been spit at, called any names, or felt the need to put an arm’s length of physical space between us, just in case, when giving feedback.
But I still get attitude, excuses, attempts at humor to deflect, shifting of blame, and half-hearted apologies, occasionally, to keep me on my toes.
A righteous man puts others before himself, serves his community with humility and grace, and is faithful to his vows, both to God and man.
Born on a farm, no running water, no electricity, salt of the earth, family man, believer in human rights, treating people with dignity, and freedom of religion.
He was the first president to talk about climate change, an environmentalist at heart, a lover of the earth, supported renewable energy by putting solar panels on the White House.
He signed legislation to manage hazardous waste, protected over 100 million acres of Alaskan land, and more than doubled the National Park System.
He passed the Ethics in Government Act to protect whistle-blowers, established FEMA, and was part of some of the first emergency planning in America.
He created the Departments of Education and Energy, and established full diplomatic relations with China, which created the basis for our world economic system.
He championed human rights around the world and was the first president to focus on these issues and appoint a woman as Assistant Secretary of State for Human Rights.
Mr. President Jimmy Carter is the first president I remember, his serious face talking about important things on our black and white television on every single channel, interrupting.
That’s how different it was back then; when the president spoke, everyone stopped what they were doing to listen. I was enamored of this kind man with gentle eyes.
I knew nothing of politics, nothing of the burdens adults endured, but I knew that this sincere man was doing what he could to make the world a better place with every ounce of his soul.
Rest in peace, Sir; your debt to the world has been paid with every house you helped build, person you lifted up, oppressor you held accountable, and kindness you shared.
@Home Studio – 357th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Jimmy Carter photos to accompany my poem:
I didn’t expect to be heard, for him to sit across from me and create space for all my woes— the back, the knees, the hips, the medications, the liver problems, the dreams of being a dancer again someday if only the pain would permit… nor expect him to examine my movement, strength, balance, coordination, and flexibility.
He was thorough and kind, asked about my living situation, support system, emotional health, career, hobbies, and activity levels.
He made suggestions, asked my opinion, answered my questions, and then we made a plan— together.
The spiral ladders of DNA that make us who we are could fill eternity with the variations and unique combinations of traits, but a few things remain constant as the sunrise— we’re all made of sugar, acid, and stone, at least, that’s the way I remember.
Deoxyribo is the sugar part; nucleic acid is nitrogen and phosphates found in the nucleus, the acid and rock. All living things have four bases that make up their chromosomes, two couples who are mated for life— Adenine with Thymine, Cytosine with Guanine, till death do they part.
We can’t do anything about our mendelian traits, they are etched in our bones, but other genes can be turned on or off depending on factors around, in, because of, or in spite of our efforts and the forces of nature, our environment, our thoughts, feelings, beliefs, and everything else we are buffeted by against our will.
There will come a day when disease will be cured by fixing the program, turning on or off the genes we already have written in our code but simply need someone to tinker with a little, so much gentler than the draconian medical procedures of cut and remove, destroy and cauterize; our descendants will feel sorry for what we endured, and study us in awe of our blind faith.
@Home Studio – 354th poem of the year
Runner ups for the DNA photos to accompany my poem:
What kind of courage must it take to agree to marry a complete stranger? To put your fate in the hands of professional matchmakers who will find you a mate?
What kind of failures in relationships and heartbreak must you have experienced to decide your picker is irrevocably broken, so you’re better off letting someone else decide?
What kind of hope must bubble up as you dress for your wedding day, eager to meet the man or woman you might spend all your days with?
What kind of crash course in communication could possibly prepare two people who’ve only just met to dive into a honeymoon and sleep in the same bed?
What kind of crazy, wild optimism drives two people to move in together, combine households, be vulnerable, and believe in falling in love with a stranger?
@Home Studio – 353rd poem of the year (Based on the show Married at Frist Sight, Nashville, Season 16.)
Married at First Sight, Nashville, Season 16, Chris Coelen, Eric Detwiler, Montre Burton, Kinetic Content, FYI, Lifetime, 2023.
Runner ups for the Married at First Sight photos to accompany my poem:
The monthly meeting of the forest animals started as a racoon tea party, but soon grew to include mice, a rabbit, a few squirrels, and an occasional deer or two.
They haven’t changed the name from the initial Racoon Tea Party title, but will probably vote next time on a new event headline that more adequately captures their essential makeup.
Because, really, it’s not even about the tea, either. The tea is a nice incidental part of every gathering, of course, but the real meat of the assembly is stimulating discussion of all matters consequential.
Whether it be politics, religion, philosophy, science the nature of reality, love, literature, finance, history, the arts, alchemy, astronomy, anthropology, languages, or artificial intelligence, the conversation is deep.
Albert racoon always steers the discussion to matters economical, which irritates Edward racoon to no end. And Amos squirrel tends to interrupt Silas rabbit anytime he brings up weather patterns. Olivia squirrel snorts disagreement.
Freda racoon can never get a word in edgewise because Agnes racoon prattles on about the pharmaceutical industry at every opportunity, and loudly, but, all in all, they have a roaring good time every month around dusk at their meeting of the minds.
@Home Studio – 352nd poem of the year
Runner ups for the Racoon Tea Party photos to accompany my poem:
Strawberry Shortcake was such a lovely girl who lived in Strawberryland and rode a pink bicycle.
Her kitty cat Custard and friends Lemon Meringue Blueberry Muffin Angel Cake Apple Dumplin’ Butter Cookie Mint Tulip Lime Chiffon Raspberry Tart Café Ole Plum Puddin’ Tea Blossom and Huckleberry Pie always had her back.
And that smell, oh, that delectable Strawberry Shortcake delicious scent, the aroma of childhood for a sliver of children born in the 70s early 80s.
Between the covers so many worlds unfold into beautiful realities where she can be anything or anyone or nothing but a concept or a rhythm or a sound that inflates the silence with pulsating life on the verge of one final breath before the universe flings itself into new voids so she can invent something new.
@Home Studio – 349th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Book Girl photos to accompany my poem:
rebekahjmarshall 