The wonder wall

What the kindergarteners posted so far:
Who was the first American?
(Boy, how do answer that to a five year old?)
Was Zeus real?
I wonder if my guinea pig will talk.

My wonders so small and immediate:
Will the ice maker break on my the refrigerator
(as it is said to do sometimes)?
Will I have enough drawer space?
Will my T-Fal pots make me get Alzheimer's?
I had no idea eating asparagus could do that to my urine.
Are my wrinkles getting deeper and more pronounced every morning?
Or did I just sleep in a really weird position? 
Will my back pain ever go away?
Did McDonald's really have to be built so close to my house?
Why don't I want to follow the Ignatian lenten retreat?
Did Frank, from Habitat for Humanity, get my call? 
When you google search my name now,
will "A Seasons of Welcome" come up?
If so, what will happen to me?  Will it be good or bad?

Then larger, but still proximitous to me:
What did I forget to do or say today?
Did the kids have fun?
Did I work hard enough to get them to do their best?
Why did I have to throw in that last,
slightly snarky comment, in today's morning meeting?
Laughing is good; why don't I go to the office more regularly to talk with my friends?
If I keep eating this way, what will happen? 

Then larger and, while still connected to me, beyond me too:
If I stay right here, in this small lovely house for the rest of my life,
will I have lived enough?
If we fail at IB, will it be my fault?
If I go to Moab, will I fit in?
Do I fit in? Do I need to fit in? Does anyone fit in?
I need to be outside.  Why am I better outside?
Why have I spent so much time inside?
(And I mean that literally and metaphorically)

Then right back to small and skin deep:
Will the skunks get into my garbage?
Should I go get and bring it back inside for the night?
What about that toaster oven; why'd I leave it at school?

Funny how we zoom in and out on our lives.  Asking things of little last relevance, then profound importance.  Then we dive back fast, into the shallow water.

At school, we have been listing questions in all of our classrooms.  And while asking is good, the IB consultant pointed out -- duh -- that questions need answers.  That inquiry must be coupled with attainment of knowledge.  No wonder I have just been slapping post-it notes on my chalkboard.  That's what I do in real life too.  Ask, ask, ask, without slowing down to discern what needs to be steeped in my head for while, weighed by my heart.  If I really laid down with my questions, curled around them through the night, how might my life change?