medial // caesura

Well done is how I liked my steak as a teenager.  I remember my father trying to convince me that pink juice filling the plate as I pierced a bite with my fork was good.  I ran upstairs crying and vowed vegetarianism for a while.  Then settled on well done.  Now that I'm "grown up," I like medium well.  My father approves. I went to two high school graduations last week.  Both talked of past achievement and future potential, but the second spoke of more than hope in a successful life on earth.  The ultimate goal, said the commencement speaker, is the approval of an eternal God and heavenly Father with the words:   "Well done, my good and faithful servant."  Last week, I had another episode with anxiety.  It was triggered by dwelling on summer:  the stress of caring for three boys mostly on my own.  Cleaning house and packing for a two-week trip and this entirely on my own.  Granted, I put additional pressure on myself with unreasonable expectations.  I g

Today I finished-- in less than 24 hours-- Toni Morrison's latest book, Home .  I thought I was captivated by the Hunger Games trilogy last month or even caught up last week in My Name is Mary Sutter , the historical fiction by a first-time novelist whose name I've now forgotten, but no, this, this Home was a truly great book.  It was as if I were reading a really, really long prose poem.  The heart-wrenching characterization, the storyline at once fantastic and familiar, and the language so beautifully crafted, my mind would say in hushed reverence as I re-read a choice line--wow, that's exactly how she must have felt; so true; or just beautiful.  Letting the words roll around in my mouth as I read them slowly aloud:  "Color, silence, music enveloped him.  This feeling of safety and goodwill, he knew, was exaggerated, but savoring it was real"  (118).  This after a wonderfully painted image the main character, Frank "Smart" Money sees as he has return