potpourri

“Weeds?” Urania referenced the photo Thalia had staged on Typist’s table.

“One muse’s weeds are another’s collage.” Cal stroked feathers before they could become ruffled. The trio had stayed up late watching a movie. While they waited for the percolator to stop perking, Cal sensed an undercurrent of unease. Typist was cleaning, Thalia was fretting over which shoes to pack, and Nia was making mental lists that really should be written down in pencil. “What did you think of Freedom Writers?”

“Loved it!” Thalia answered. “Magical math — community — lines between labels erased with love. And, the film was based on a true story.”

“I liked it when the teacher said to her students, ‘From this moment on, the person you were — that person’s turn is over.’ Like Heraclitus’ quote about constantly changing rivers and men… she gave the teenagers permission to become somebody different… better… than what they came from.” Urania walked over to the silver pot and poured herself a steaming cup.

“Well I liked the line from the teacher’s father. He told her she’d been blessed with a burden, a calling… work that gave her life meaning.” Cal opened the refrigerator door and splashed a quarter inch of half & half into her mug. “Full lives serve causes greater than themselves?”

“And we only knew of the film because we’d watched Million Dollar Baby the night before… and were curious about other films Hilary Swank was in,” said Thalia.

“Nice collage.” Urania nodded in Thalia’s direction. “Can I get you some coffee?”