Sarah Morgan
I can’t speak Spanish. I can’t belly dance. I can’t dance like Mya did in the desert. I can’t drive stick. I can’t horseback ride. I can’t dive. I can’t sing in tune. I can’t make paper cranes, friendship bracelets or fried chicken. I can’t lay brick.
And. I can’t decline a noun in Latin anymore. Or dream in French. Or sing in American Sign Language. Or cartwheel on a balance beam. Or play Scott Joplin. Or do 25 pushups.
But. I can assemble furniture. I can write. I can dissemble. I can draw in pencil. I can paint in oils. I can curse in Gaelic, American Sign Language, Italian and French. I can do a backbend. I can paint a room. And I can go anywhere at any time and love it.
So. That’s what I’m doing Thursday morning.
(And maybe those others will come with time.)
