It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." Thank you Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community of teacher-writers!
It’s our last day of SOLSC – thirty-one days of writing in community. I feel as if I have been on one big adventure with new friends. A huge shout out to Stacey Shubitz and the amazing TWT Team for this wonderful month of sharing together!
As this challenge ends, I find myself seeking a metaphor for daily writing and connecting with you. I wonder if this poem of mine, written a couple years ago, might work? In this poem, I tell about a walk with my two-year-old granddaughter, and her insistence on getting out of the stroller and running after a feather –
The Feather
feather, small and grey
lying in our walking path
once seen cannot be unseen
get out! you demand
so, the stroller’s belt I undo
together
we bend over
looking closely
only to have the wind
lift it
into the air
sending it forward
beckoning
you and I in pursuit
laughing
following a feather
Thank you, SOLSC community for all the precious feathers – your precious stories – that drifted into my path this month. It has been so invigorating to write alongside you, to look closely, together. I am so glad I stopped to look and to savor your writing, and that you did the same for mine. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
See you on Tuesdays, at Two Writing Teachers, everyone!
Thank you for visiting my blog. Clicking the title of any post will open a comment box at the bottom of the page. I love hearing from you.
It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." Thank you Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community of teacher-writers!
I moved the dollhouse upstairs to the corner of the landing, next to a bright sunny window, and set it on an old coffee table. Now it is at a good height for the children to play, and they can feel somewhat autonomous up here in this nook, while remaining within earshot of us as we work in the kitchen. I unearthed some furniture pieces from the attic crawlspace and set these up for Frog and Bird before a recent visit.
I couldn’t find any dolls, I’m sure these migrated to my preschool classroom over the years. I grabbed a couple Duplo figures, a forgotten Star Wars figure, and an angel from our Christmas ornaments that had lost its ‘hook,’ and set these up as ‘family.’ That little angel made an impression on the girls – they now refer to this play area as “angel house,” as in “I’m going to go upstairs and play at angel house,” which I find adorable.
At the craft store, I found some little wood figures and spent a sweet morning painting ‘people’ for the girls’ play. Now, everyone’s in the mix, one big doll community – the Star Wars guy, the Duplo, the angel, and the wood figures.
I am absolutely enchanted by the little stories they act out here at the dollhouse. They are thoroughly engaged by the varied pieces, setting up these sweet scenes and mini-dramas. I have not yet been successful at catching all their words, but have overheard words about working and dinner and Mama, Dada. I need to be a better spy, and capture their stories.
The dollhouse feels new and special to Frog and Bird, though it has been around forever. Between the pandemic and our home remodeling, it basically collected dust in a corner of the basement. Now, there is new life!
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It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." Thank you Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community of teacher-writers!
In yesterday’s slice, Glenda Funk offered a tour of the artwork that hangs on the walls of her home, offering a brief story about each piece, and including many beautiful pieces that she acquired through travel. Upon reading, I instantly felt a happy, warm feeling in my heart, akin to what I feel when I visit a new friend for the first time. This is one of the greatest pleasures of the SOLSC community, I think – when you spend a month writing alongside others, you feel as if you have made friends.
Let me not neglect to share who Glenda got her inspiration from, another SOLSC writer; Glenda wrote –
Sunday Aggie Kessler who blogs at “my heart is happiest when i travel. read. write. connect” took us on a tour of her home in Jeju, Korea and blogged about how she likes glimpsing into others’ homes. I do, too.
Today, I’ll share a few art pieces from my home, in hopes that you get to know me a little better.
I started dating Tony in fall 1986, and I was pretty much head-over-heels from the get-go. A couple months into our relationship, I was visiting family in New Hampshire, and my sister-in-law and I slipped into a local art show. I saw this painting:
I had to have it.
Know this: I had never bought a painting before in my life. I’m not really sure what got into me. I simply knew that I wanted this for Tony. It reminded me of our many hikes together, trekking through the woods. I remember so very well how my sister-in-law pleaded with me, saying – I think this is a very serious gift, you’ve only been dating a couple months, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I dismissed her advice and bought this painting as a gift for him. I remember the long drive back to Washington, D.C., with this treasure in the back seat of my small car, wondering about my impulsivity. This painting adorns our fireplace mantle, in our living room. It is probably our “fanciest” piece of art, painted by an artist I do not know (C. Conti). Oh, and we’ve been married 35 years – so the gift worked out, lol.
Most of our art is painted by someone near and dear to us. Here’s our basement wall, where I have a gallery of art created my own kids, over the years:
Let me spotlight this one by my four year old granddaughter, Frog:
I love this drawing! She has recently ‘discovered’ that she can draw this being – and she draws it over and over again, with different color markers. We’ll ask, oh, who is this? and she’ll say “It’s you” or “It’s Poppa” or “It’s Mama” or, or, or, on and on. I see no distinction in the drawings other than the marker color, but she imagines different people for each one. I love this!
Here’s a poster that has hung in our kitchen for nearly 30 years, entitled “Elephant Bird” by Mike Smith –
Elephant Bird by Mike Smith
A friend worked in a frame shop and noticed that this poster was being trashed, to make room for other merchandise. She knew that our (then) three-year-old son loved elephants, so she saved it from the trash and passed it on to us; I had it framed. We love elephants!
Another favorite of mine is this artwork of the Quilts of Gee’s Bend. I saw this exhibit in Memphis in 2005, and was mesmerized by the patterns of the quilts. These are simply postcards that I placed in a frame:
Next up: My nephew created this batik when he was in middle school. He based it on a painting of our eldest son (his cousin) sitting on Tony’s lap at the piano. I was so thrilled when my sister-in-law gave us this painting. It hangs above our piano, and the small photo sits on our piano.
Batik and inspirational photo
We had a two-year stay in Little Rock, Arkansas, due to Tony’s work, from 2004-06. I worked as a substitute teacher during this time, and I also had the joy of taking pastel art classes at the art center there. Here’s a picture I created during these art classes – it is of our Maryland home (which shows how much I was missing it):
Our Home by Maureen Young Ingram
During those classes, the following painting was created by an artist working at the easel right next to me. I am embarrassed that I don’t recall his name (nor can I decipher the signature).
Created in 2006, unknown
I have not forgotten the awe I felt in watching the artist create this piece. He had a photograph of an old home taped to his easel, and he zeroed in on this one corner of the house. He worked with only 2-3 colors and he created a treasure of a painting. At the end of the art course, there was an informal art sale at the center; I was absolutely thrilled to purchase my classmate’s gorgeous work – having watched its very birth.
I adored my art teacher in Little Rock. Her name is Endia Gomez – and this piece of hers hangs above my writing chair, inspiring me, always.
Untitled by Endia Gomez
As you can see, most of our art is personal treasures. Let me close with the marionette that hangs in my kitchen –
Cambodian Puppet, gift of a friend
Is this not a twin to Glenda’s? Mine was a gift from a dear neighbor, after I tended to their plants and their cats after a long trip to Cambodia.
I hope you enjoyed this visit with me, today.
Thank you for visiting my blog. Clicking the title of any post will open a comment box at the bottom of the page. I love hearing from you.
It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." Thank you Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community of teacher-writers!
My favorite place to write is here in my nook in our family room, looking out into our backyard. This is my writing chair:
For years, this writing chair was in my bedroom – which was a lovely place to write, too – a quiet corner of the house. When we remodeled this past year, this ‘bay’ in our family room sat vacant for a moment or two; I didn’t know what to do with the space. Then I heard it cry out to me: grab your journal and pen, and settle in, feel the sun at your shoulder! It is a wonderful location – I sit with my feet up on the ottoman, my quilt across my lap, and with bounteous light coming in through the windows. I could never have written here when the boys were young, right here in the center of the whole house. It would have been so noisy, one interruption after another. Now, however, it is just Tony and I here at home, and the family room is much more quiet. He’s often squirreled away in his den and I am here. This is where I sit and write each morning, readying for the day.
I think ‘quiet’ is perhaps the number one ingredient for most of my writing – this need to be apart, to think.
If I find myself stuck with my writing, I get up and do something else for a while. Here’s where I head if I am trying to ‘unlock’ some thoughts – my play area in my basement:
This is a fun space that I share with my granddaughters when they come by to visit. I have lots of craft materials – varied markers, scissors, paint, glue, stamps, and collage papers. I draw and I paint and I tinker here. I have a couple different projects in the works. It is great to have a space that I can just leave things be, and return to when the time is right.
One writing project I am in the midst of right now is to finish a children’s story. This is a self-propelled idea; I have been toying with this story for a couple of years now. When I say ‘finish,’ I mean: write the story from beginning to end. This story is really a poem, one that I have stopped and started several times now. I change my rhyming pattern, come up with a different way to start the story, lose the rhymes entirely, over and over, I am spinning in place. Each of these false starts keeps me from writing the story completely, from beginning to end.
My basement play area is helping me get through this impasse. Working here, I laid out the story on index cards from beginning to end, sketching – doodling, really – the action. Now I am working on larger art paper for each card, creating collage images and writing words alongside. I am channeling my inner Oge Mora or Eric Carle.
When the words are flowing, I take out my computer and write. When I ‘jam up’ again, I work more intensely on the visual art that is needed next. Back and forth, illustrations to writing to more illustrations to still more writing. I still haven’t written a complete draft – but I am so much closer, thanks to this art ‘tinkering’ on the side.
It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." Thank you Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community of teacher-writers!
We made the commitment to watch two-year-old Bird for the weekend long before my dermatologic procedure was scheduled. I had not imagined that I would be dancing around these (temporary) physical limitations. It’s a good thing that Poppa is her favorite person on earth these days, because he did everything while I faded back.
Wait, no reaching down and scooping her up, into a big hug? No running laps around the kitchen and family room, chasing one another? No helping her up and down the steps? No reaching for that big heavy thing on the shelf that she simply must look at? No lifting her up onto the bar stool for meals? No wrestling with her about a diaper change? (This last, I accept.)
You don’t realize what you can’t do until you can’t do it.
I didn’t wrestle shoes on her feet, either!
The kids have played adult rec floor hockey for years, he in the men’s league, she in the women’s league, and together in the coed league. So far, they have kept up this healthy pastime even with two young children, carting the girls along to the games, alongside other young families doing the same. It’s their community, and gives them lots of joy.
Two times a year they have a ‘getaway,’ when they travel to tournaments without the babies, meaning a full weekend babysitting commitment for the grandparents – midday Friday until late Sunday night. (They are home earlier in the weekend if they lose – I’m not ashamed to say that I do find myself rooting for a loss.)
Even with both sets of grandparents able to help out, this is a big commitment for the babysitters. This past year, they began taking four-year-old Frog to the tournaments with them, which I think is very exciting for her and lightens the load for us. This past weekend, little Bird was absolutely aware that her family was gone without her, and I suspect that she, too, will troop along at the next tournament, six months from now.
Tony and I met playing rec softball, down on the Mall in Washington, D.C. We continued to play a bit after the children were born, but by the time we had two on the sidelines to manage – well, the desire to play simply faded. Our third child has no memories of Mom and Dad playing softball, that is for sure. Tony and I did a good bit of running as the boys grew, participating in a variety of local low-key ‘races.’ Running is wonderfully flexible, allowing one of us to be out while the other was home with the children.
Children grow, things change, transitions go on and on.
You don’t realize what you’re no longer doing until you’re no longer doing it.
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It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." Thank you Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community of teacher-writers!
We both exclaimed at once – “Wait, is that you?!”
We hadn’t seen each other in years. The parent of a former student is now working part-time at my favorite local bookstore. What a small world.
This parent and I, it was mutual adoration, back when her child was in my class. I worked at a ‘cooperative preschool’ then, where family members took turns assisting in the classroom. We got to know one another very well. I loved working alongside new parents, and this particular mom was one of the best – happy, patient, and energetic (pretty useful traits with young children).
I explained that Tony was in the car, waiting outside; I was only in the store a hot minute to grab a book on order, but please, tell me everything! We had a super quick share about our families, how everyone was doing. My goodness, her oldest child – that little preschooler of mine from years ago – is now in college. She was excited to hear about my grandkids, that my oldest son is a father. Then she asked about my other two sons – How old are they now? Are they married?
What is it about this “Are they married?” question that always sends a little shutter down my neck? Honestly, I would love these two children of mine to have loving partners, but … well, it’s not really something I can control, yes? These two are single. Unattached. Not dating anyone ‘seriously.’ (At least, not to my knowledge.) And, I try to be totally okay with this – Tony and I were older when we got married, there is time. Plus, I have many relatives who are life-long singles, living full lives. Maybe ‘marriage’ isn’t in the cards. Isn’t it more important that they simply feel good about their lives, with or without someone dear?
Okay, regarding that above paragraph – I totally spared my “re-found” friend this diatribe; I answered her breezily, saying “They’re both single and loving life.”
Re-found gives me a big smile and says, “Well, bring them here next time – let me introduce you to [the woman] at the cash register, she’s single and just the best. I know your sons are sweet!!” and, in a split second, she pulls this adorable but embarrassed woman into our conversation.
I had quite a laugh about this exchange when I got back into the car with my husband, and more laughter with my sons themselves. Maybe they need a real ‘forward push’ like this? Maybe life is more like a romantic comedy, if we are open to it?
Well, somebody has to arrange the matches,
Young people can't decide these things themselves.
She might bring someone wonderful----
Someone interesting----
And well off----
And important---
Matchmaker, Matchmaker,
Make me a match,
Find me a find,
Catch me a catch
Matchmaker, Matchmaker
Look through your book,
And make me a perfect match
- lyrics from "Matchmaker, Matchmaker,"
by Jerrold Lewis Bock & Sheldon M. Harnick
It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." Thank you Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community of teacher-writers!
Stuff, stuff, stuff. We are still going through my parents’ stuff, even some three years after my father’s death, some five years after my mother’s. My brother recently dropped off another box of things at my house (I wrote about the old dolls of my father’s earlier this month); today, I started to weed through some of the photographs.
What to do with all these photographs? There is one very large manila envelope, stuffed with small photos; there are folders with larger photos. Mind you, my brothers and I went through family photos at the time of our parents’ deaths. I already brought home so many, and tried my best to sort through them or, at least, box them up and put them in a new corner.
I need to find that box and add in these photos. I just can’t deal.
In the midst of these loose photos was an album. Curious, I flipped this open, only to find that it was filled with photos of our Navy quarters at Portsmouth Naval Shipyard, in Kittery, Maine. This was a very impressive home, built in the 1700s. Let me show you a picture from the album:
The photos in the album are dated 1981, which is the year we moved from these quarters, when Dad was transferred to another shipyard. The entire album is still photos of every room in the house. Honestly, that is all that is in this album – photos of every room, captured from four or five different angles. There are no words of explanation and no people in any of the photos, whatsoever. It is like a sterile real estate advertisement, something that is rather unnecessary when the only people who live in this house are assigned to live in this house.
The house is historical, and the Navy already has a published book about the home, one that is also in the pile of stuff from my parents. Yet, someone – Dad? – went through every room of the house and took a photograph, and made a photo album.
To remember what, exactly?
The memories it taps for me are some of my saddest ones. I was in college when we lived in this house, so I only lived there during school breaks. My parents’ marriage at this time was filled with acrimony, with a cold emphasis on ‘giving one another the silent treatment.’ My brothers and I were never privy to what their strife was all about, we simply had to live through it, in it, alongside it, with them. It is by no means a period of my life that I want to memorialize – except to remind myself how not to treat my loved ones.
This photo from the hallway looking into the dining room, I imagine this caption:
the polished
glistening dining room
it always sat empty while
Dad and Mom held silent and apart
and we all walked on eggshells
What to do with this dang photo album?
Find a bigger box, and put it up and away, until my head is in a different space for dealing with such blues.
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It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." Thank you Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community of teacher-writers!
It wasn’t simply Tony and I that were oh-so-pleased to have our home remodeling completed this past fall – my houseplants are overjoyed, too. They have been basking in the open floor plan and the extra light this great room now offers. They have grown and flourished over the winter. Let me tell you about this happiness.
Most of the remodeling was completed while the weather here in Maryland was still quite warm, so I moved the larger plants outside, to avoid the drywall dust, chemicals smells, and other hard aspects of the construction process.
Unfortunately, their time ‘in the wilderness’ coincided with some powerful rainstorms. One week when I was away from home, they received a torrent of watering, unlike anything they had ever experienced before. Every houseplant was swamped with water. I had to lay their pots on the side and drain them as best I could. Plant “TLC” began in earnest, and their return to the house in mid-October was a time of love and rejoicing.
Hardy plants like the philodendron and the dracaena recovered quickly. The fern was bent and nearly broken in two; I have been encouraging its strength with a velcro tie. This fern is probably my oldest plant, given to me in the late 1990s by my mother, on a rare trip by her and my father to our house for Thanksgiving. The fern sits happily by the light of the french doors, and is simply bursting with these fun yellow ‘seed’ flowers.
I was quite worried about my peace lilies; their leaves were torn and ragged, they were badly beaten by these late summer storms. You wouldn’t know it now! They are healthy and strong, vibrantly reaching upwards, as if exclaiming “YES!! WE ARE HOME!!” Here is one’s photo; you can see new growth happening:
Let me tell you about dear Anthurium; this personality owns the room and wants her story shared. Anthurium (and, yes, I call her by her full name) was a thank you gift from a parent at the end of a school year, some six or seven years ago. She is a smallish plant, about one foot in circumference, and I didn’t put her outside during the remodeling, I simply kept her upstairs – with plastic curtains at the stairwell keeping her apart from all the construction mess.
Fresh from the florist’s shop, she was regal: shiny green leaves and two of the most perfect bright red, waxy, heart-shaped flower spikes. These cheery flowers bloomed for many months, and then began to fade, finally disappearing entirely. We were working on our communication. Unlike most of my houseplants, I had trouble understanding Anthurium’s needs. I found her to be a rather exhausting combination of aloof and demanding. She finds it very hard to relax. I want to call her “prissy” but she is a friend, and that feels quite rude.
Finally, I found the perfect room for her: the upstairs guest room. Anthurium lives at the edge of bright and sunny, not wanting to be out ‘mixing’ with others – afraid she will fry her leaves – but definitely not receding into the shadows. She is a wee bit needy, expecting me to check in every day, offering her water; she likes her soil ‘just so’ – not dry, not overwet, just right.
Her guest room home is also known as Bird’s room, and Anthurium dearly missed hearing Bird’s chatter from the nearby crib while the kitchen and family room were remodeled. Bird was gone for many months, and, of course, construction dust and noise kept straying up the stairs, messing with her perfect little world. I feared Anthurium wasn’t going to make it through.
Well, Anthurium has proven to be as strong and resourceful as her housemates. Anthurium is so excited that the remodeling is complete that she is celebrating with a new flower – look closely, this sweet red growth is just beginning, a mere inch in length at present. I’m excited to watch her bloom!
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It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." Thank you Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community of teacher-writers!
A friend (a peer) jokes that we’ve reached the age where our conversations invariably become an ‘organ recital.’ I guess Day 23 of the SOLSC challenge leads me to this tiresome topic, lol.
My dermatologist had me follow up with the dermatologic surgeon, for a routine cyst removal – due to its irritating location at the center of my back. I feel so grateful that only a minor procedure was required and I do not have skin cancer or any other complications.
I was able to set up an appointment before leaving the dermatologist’s office, pleased at how straightforward this whole process was.
Not.
Two weeks later, I received a message that this appointment had to be canceled, because the surgeon was not available on the scheduled date. Unfortunately, this schedule change could not be handled by the practice’s portal – please call the office at my earliest convenience. This brief message was followed by a maddening, long game of phone tag with the receptionist, lasting several weeks. I’m not kidding. When we finally connected (I was in the middle of a visit from a friend, and I rudely interrupted our conversation to grab the phone), I was given an appointment for May – a date that was almost six months after that first visit with the dermatologist. The receptionist explained that they sometimes have cancellations, and she would call me, if so. Thank goodness I am retired and have ‘flexibility’ to bend with this unpredictability.
Yesterday afternoon, I received such a call – and this morning I went for the ‘minor procedure.’
The cyst ended up being bigger than anticipated, and the process more grueling than I had imagined. I had to be given extra anesthesia. I was curious, and the doctor let me see the cyst when it was removed. UGH. Consider yourselves lucky that this slice is photograph-free!
I received a whole litany of restrictions afterwards, which I have to observe until the stitches are removed in two weeks. I won’t be lifting our two year old granddaughter, for one. I guess I should have asked more questions about the procedure beforehand – not simply the schedule.
It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." Thank you Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community of teacher-writers!
it may not turn to gold,
but what she touches
invariably
sparkles
two-year-old Bird
arrives at our house
knowing exactly what
she wants to do
she runs to “her cabinet”
opens the door
empties the gold mine
shiny pebbles
bright sequins
polished gems
bright beads
smooth marbles
flash gleam glisten play
it’s all about the bling these days
one lustrous activity after another
gather them
mix them
stir them into a cake
find Poppa’s cars and trucks
how many gems fit inside
the hood the trunk the doors
find some bins
fill containers
stuff a purse
snap, zip, pop, close, open
pour them out, of course
Nana helps make a line
mold them into a shape
hide hold haul handle with care
how fun it is to fill a sink with water
add some bubbles
wash them up and towel dry
repeat as needed
over and over
and over again
a gem of a day
together
let it shine
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