Crox. We are all hybrids.

What do you get when you mix a crow and a fox?
A crox? A tail-heavy bird? A winged vulpes? Earlier,
I was thinking I had to choose between the fox and
the crow, but recently I more fully realize that the
best stories are about life's juxtapositions, contra-
dictions, and even hybridizations.

In-progess Large Litany Bowl

During the last two weeks of the school year, I have
spent a lot of time dreaming about gardening, especially
flower gardening. The scavenger in me is gathering
perennials that other people are thinning out, using
recycled culvert ends as planters. The teacher in me is
not having it with all the daydreaming and insists that all
the classroom checklists be done before my hands dive
deep into pulling out my inner gardener or the neglected
artist.

The waitress in me is breaking out again after quite a
long hiatus, and anxious to pay off a few bills and talk
to adults. The mom and wife in me knows how few
Summers there will be with our kids at home, desperately
wanting to go to the beach while desperately avoiding
chores. And the artist in me knows this all ties together
somehow.

The artist most easily hybridizes all of this and knows
that we are all hybrids--of our families, of our roles, of
our dreams.