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Category: personal narrative

Alone together

Published on December 27, 2022

“I want to have alone time with Nana and Poppa.”

There is no greater gift than these words. My heart did a little dance when my daughter-in-law shared these with me.

“I want to have alone time with Nana and Poppa.”

Four-year-old Frog and Mom were driving to our house on the last day of school before winter break, to pick up little sister Bird from her day of care with us, when Frog named this want. 

She must have been reflecting, thinking … about Bird, her little sister, having a day with us, perhaps thinking about the fun we must have been having.

“I want to have alone time with Nana and Poppa.”

You see, Frog’s in full-time preschool now, and our time together is much reduced. She doesn’t get to be with us, her grandparents, very much at all, except for an hour or two at the end of a school day. 

Plus, our home was being remodeled over the past many months, and we couldn’t have the children over for sleepovers. 

“I want to have alone time with Nana and Poppa.”

We used to have a weekly overnight . . . long walks in the woods . . . fun in the kitchen, making pancakes and biscuits, washing dishes at the sink . . . all sorts of low-key fun, together.

We have to do something about this.

“I want to have alone time with Nana and Poppa.”

This afternoon, tonight, tomorrow morning: a special holiday sleepover. Frog and Bird together again, at Nana and Poppa’s. There’s no limit to the fun we’ll have together! 

Bounteous alone time – together.

A drawing by Frog of me, on our trip to Yellowstone this past summer

‘Tis the season

Published on December 20, 2022

She was bright and cheery when we arrived, eating the remnants of her breakfast and hungry for more. Bird loves to eat! We cooked a pot of oatmeal, and enjoyed this with her. 

Less than an hour later, the two-year-old yawned. Once. Twice. Three times. This is very unusual. “Bird, are you tired, little one? You are not usually tired so early in the morning.” We had not gotten a report on how well she had slept the night before, in the rush of parents getting out the door for work and big sister heading to school.  

A matter of minutes later, she started whining and fretting, and she sat very still, a sad little lump, not playing. What? Where did our happy little Bird go? I invited her to sit with me on the couch and read books, and she could hardly complete this easy climb, moaning with exhaustion. I noticed her eyes were watery. Ah, the tell. This little girl was getting sick.

We literally watched a virus consume our little Bird, and it was a bit like those paper towel commercials where you watch the crud be absorbed.

She curled up at the end of the couch away from me, not wanting to be held, but to be alone near us – honestly, like a wounded animal. One book later, she was back in bed for a nap – without protest. Oh my.

I was not at all surprised when she woke up hot with a fever.

(Come to think of it, there was another big clue. Bird insisted on wearing a pumpkin dress in the midst of this Christmas season – I should have realized that this was her way of telling me that something was wrong, hahaha.)

Since her big sister Frog started preschool this past August, we have had so many viruses pass through our family, one after another. The day that Bird got sick was Frog’s first day back after a two-day fever virus. My son jokes (? is this humor?) that Frog rarely makes it to school for every day of a five day week. The classroom seems to be passing the bugs back and forth, with so many children are getting sick. 

As their caregivers, this sets us up for sickness, too – and I have been so pleased with my resilience. Have all my years of teaching preschool built up my immunity, allowing me to stay healthy in retirement?

Well, my resilience broke down with this latest bout of grandchildren sickness. Yep, I am now tired, achy, and congested. It is not COVID, just a gift from the grandkids. ‘Tis the season, yes? So it is!

Be well, everyone!

Happy Holidays!

It’s Tuesday and I’m participating in Slice of Life.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for creating
this supportive community of teacher writers.

Playfully Hiding

Published on December 6, 2022 
somewhere 
maybe out west on our travels this past summer
under rocks along the canyon ridge hike in Yellowstone 
slipping down the slope of Crater Lake
behind one of the many tall and stunning redwoods of California?

somewhere 
no, probably here at home when we returned
to the demolition of remodeling 
all the ensuing shocks and decisions
squished between spackle drywall wiring?

I don’t know 

somewhere
perhaps in the tragic defeating headlines of the larger world 
so much ugly right at my fingertips
the relentless cascade? 

actually maybe it is woven within 
these pandemic years themselves
intertwined with all the isolation tension unknown?

who knows?

it could simply be 
turning sixty-three
Joy Harjo imagines 
every seven years - a new transition
maybe this is the focus of 
my next seven year chapter?

somewhere
somewhere
somewhere
I’ve lost words
unexpectedly
over and over and over again
yes, language stumbles away from me

it happens right in the midst of 
an ordinary conversation
an ordinary sentence
an ordinary word

ah…ah…ah 
(yep, that’s what I always say)
and
so ensues
all manner 
of pantomime 
charades
good luck charms
incantations
mental hijinks 

a friend suggests
getting up and immediately
walking back 
across the threshold 
of whatever room I’ve entered
believing
this action will bring the word back

I try and try and try
to find 
the elusive rascal

here
at the outset of
this hide and seek game
I am chuckling
I see
words playfully hiding

but this could get old very soon

The story behind this poem –

Just the other day, I was telling a friend about our upgrades to the air conditioning and heating system here at the house, when for the life of me, I could not recall the word

“ducts.”

The word had simply vaporized from my brain. The next thing I knew, I was stuttering and flailing, trying to conjure the word, and my friend – as if on cue – starting playing a guessing game with me, trying to help me along with my storytelling.

If this were a one-time thing, this incident would hardly merit a ‘slice of life’ post (though maybe it would, due to its exceptionalism? Hahaha) I seem to have entered a phase of my life where I am losing words more regularly, ordinary words that simply escape my tongue for reasons I cannot understand – just enough to be irritating, not enough to truly scare me or require medical expertise. (I think!)

So, tell me, does this happen to you, too?

It's Tuesday and I'm participating in the Slice of Life. 
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers,
for creating this supportive community of teacher writers.

Night Sounds

Published on November 22, 2022

The afternoon sun on the Cacopan River in West Virginia

I found myself wide-awake both nights of the retreat, this past weekend. I lucked into the bottom bunk due to my timely arrival, but it did little to assist my being comfortable in the narrow unfamiliar cot. I was alone awake, in a bunkhouse with other women, listening to the sounds of the darkness from within and outside. 

I was fascinated by everyone’s breathing noise. Spellbound. Listening. Yes, we are women of a certain age, and we are no longer delicate in our sleep. A shift in our sleeping positions and here comes the whinnying, gasps, and snorts. My husband has nudged me many times for my snores, poking me when I am sound asleep, encouraging me to move from my back to my side or my belly, so that he might return to quiet. As I lay awake in the bunkhouse, I delighted in the variety of these sounds, and the ‘call and response’ nature – it was as if women called out to each other under the veil of night, offering a secret conversation. 

bunkhouse reverie

conversations continue
in the dark of night
snorts and snarls
chokes and spurts
gasps and growls
intermittent coughs
an airplane landing?
a leaf blower cranked?
unknown beast?
she settles and all goes quiet,
then she answers from across the room
stops and starts 
call and response
symphony of seniors

As I settled into this uncertain concert, I let go of the sounds within the cabin and honed in on the night noise outside, in the wood surrounds. I became transfixed by this unknown warble, an unfamiliar animal trill – was this a bird or a four-legged friend? It sounded musical, like a gentle shake of a maraca, a call emitted from deep in the being’s throat. The sound varied in length, as if conversational phrases – varying from 3-4 seconds to nearly 20 seconds at one point. Who’s out in the woods in West Virginia in the middle of the night? 

Over breakfast, I tried to describe what I heard, but no one seemed to know what animal it might be. There was no way to solve this mystery during my retreat, because we were very much ‘off the grid.’ As soon as I returned home, I began to investigate online, looking up what animals live in this region and what sounds they make. Isn’t the internet the most fabulous tool? I’m excited to say, I did find the source of the beautiful sound: the eastern screech owl. (I really like this YouTube link because you can watch the owl as they make the sound.)

“Observe and reflect, become a little wiser every day.”
- so sayeth an unknown owl
It’s Tuesday and I’m participating in the Slice of Life.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers,
for creating this supportive community of teacher writers.