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The Robin

Published on April 23, 2024

It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you  Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

Is there any special meaning when a robin crosses your path? They are, to my eye, the very harbinger of spring. Some say they offer good luck, positivity, and joy. Others say a robin suggests growth, renewal, change.

It’s one thing to see them bob-bob-bobbin’ along across the lawn, perhaps pulling a worm from the ground. It’s another thing entirely, in my opinion, what’s been going on at my house recently. Early one morning a couple weeks ago, a robin tapped at our bedroom window, not once, not twice, but over and over. The same robin returned the next day. And many days thereafter. Here, our granddaughter (amusingly, nicknamed “Bird”) discovers him, tapping hello –

Scientists posit that this behavior means that they are being territorial, that they can see their reflection and are ‘fighting off’ another bird:

If a robin has chosen your yard and location as a good site (yeah for you as they are very cool birds), then both parents will defend that area throughout the nesting period. That means that ‘other’ robin in the window is a real threat to them. The more energy and time they take to fight that guy, the less they spend with their babies or eggs or feeding. So, it is helpful for the bird for you to intervene and convince them that the bird they are seeing is gone.
Native Bird Care (Oregon)

We’ve lived in this house more than thirty years; I’ve never seen such bird behavior before. What has changed? We are quite certain our visitor is one robin and not a variety of robins; we have been studying their feathers and shape. Thinking that the nearby shrubs might be harboring a bird’s nest, I went out and checked out the landscaping in the vicinity of our bedroom window. There was no sign of a bird’s nest. The robin must be feeling territorial for some other reason than protecting a nest. Perhaps they have discovered some yummy nearby ‘fast food’ berries or worms, and are trying to protect their stash from other robins?

Just today, I added this crocheted shawl to the window in order to change the light and glare, to reduce the possibility of the robin seeing their reflection:

This is not the look I was going for in my bedroom, but I’m beginning to feel responsible and worried about that robin. They’ve left dozens of scratch marks on my window glass; their beak must be getting quite sore.

One day in, the stats are great: no robin visited the window today. Let me close with a simple revision of Rock-In Robin:

He rocks at our window all day long
Hoppin' and a-boppin' and a-singing his song
All the lil’ people that live at this house
Are trying to figure this out, out, out

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Musing

Published on April 16, 2024

It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you  Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

Someone is singing an opera in my backyard as I write; they’ve been at it all morning. My Merlin app tells me they are a Northern Flicker, a visually beautiful dear soul with dotted plumage, yet I cannot catch even one tiny glance. They prefer to sing from deep within the leafing branches of the maple tree, and perhaps their song is one of lament because I am not able to see them. Yes, I put myself at the center of their song.

I don’t know what to tell you.

Hmm.

Does anyone else have trouble starting a ‘Slice of Life,’ now that the March challenge is over and the writing is not daily?

Which personal thread to grab onto and run-write with it?

I simply don’t know.

I could tell you about my relaxing weekend in the woods, on retreat with my book group. I could write about our conversation about Ann Patchett’s Tom Lake. Oh, and how a few of us watched the 1940 film classic of Our Town, as a little ‘background’ for the book.

(Should I tell you how surprising it was that this movie deigned to create a new ‘happy’ ending for Thornton Wilder’s play?)

I could focus on just one hike, share with you the sweet spring growth I observed. Here are a couple photos of this emergence:

Oh, but I’ve shared about countless hikes in this space.

How about I tell you about the book I’m reading – Terrance Hayes’ Watch Your Language? I am absolutely awed by his witty and playful writing, how he draws clever doodles throughout the book, and simultaneously offers so much scholarly wisdom on Black poets and the history of modern poetry in general. He is piercing many myths I have swallowed whole. With every page, my understanding and curiosity about poetry expands.

I don’t know where to begin.

Consider this excerpt about Gwendolyn Brooks, as he considers the historical timeline of ‘modern great poets’ –

Brooks makes any conversation about American poetry of the last half century more interesting. Brooks was born in 1917, the same year as Robert Lowell, who won the Pulitzer in 1947, three years before Brooks. When he passed in 1977 Lowell was considered one of the chief poets of the twentieth century. He taught both Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath. His family history could be traced back to the Mayflower.

As Robert Lowell is to Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath, Brooks is to several generations of poets. Brooks met with James Baldwin and many Black poets of the era in her living room. I wish there was a better record of her relationship with Sonia Sanchez, their chats about motherhood, poetry, Blackness, community. Sonia Sanchez published her debut, Homecoming, in 1969, the same year Lucille Clifton published her debut, Good Times. Audre Lorde published The First Cities, her debut, in 1968. Brooks was a central figure in the work of all three poets.
Terrance Hayes, Watch Your Language, pp 24-25

He notes, 
“She often goes unacknowledged the way caretakers and angels go unacknowledged.” 

Terrance Hayes’ writing sends me tumbling, makes me pause, reflect, and re-read. He makes me wonder about all the details that were left out of my schooling. I chase down my Gwendolyn Brooks poetry book and lose myself within. 

There is so much I was never taught. 
There is so much that was so dull about the way I was taught. 
There is so much more to learn. 

Why was I never challenged to question? 

I don’t know what to tell you.

Let me close with a poem I wrote yesterday for Ethical ELA, where Angie Braaten prompted us to write an elegy, with inspiration from Clint Smith's poem “Playground Elegy.” Honestly, I think all of my above rambles fed into this poem:

Textbook Elegy

The first time       I penned                  my name and date
in that       rectangle stamp       of the history textbook 
reading the     names of students     from years before 
I turned   quickly   to      chapter one,              devouring. 
Each   line      of text     so pure and real and insightful.
I studied every page and absorbed  great knowledge.
I looked forward      to the next year’s               textbook
revealing    so much                 more                 of the world.
It would be  years   before I noticed its     white space. 
I knew sanitized only from the bathroom.          I knew
sifted from cakes,                      left out from friendships,
omitted from   don’t say that      around mom and dad. 
I didn’t know                 what                              I didn’t know. 
I read with joy,                     absorbing believing trusting.
Now I wonder who   powers  every single line of text
and do students wonder about this and does anyone
know         what is not written.

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Shedding the Wild

Published on April 9, 2024

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 gazed out the window while chatting on the phone with a friend, and froze mid-conversation – uh! I’ve gotta go! I’ll call you back! Sorry! – and I immediately disconnected. I was astounded at the sight. He was sitting right at the corner of our shed, not quite licking his paws, but as if this was where he belonged, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, as if his owners hadn’t spent the last week plus looking furiously for this little fellow. Oh my goodness! There’s Dear One! In our backyard!

I wrote last week about my neighbor’s cat slipping from their house during a plumbing fiasco, and the sad unease that had settled over all of us when the cat could not be found. This seems the perfect story for today’s slice: Dear One is back home, safe and sound.

On EthicalELA’s #VerseLove on April 7, the host James suggested honing in on “a fleeting moment, [where] everything seemed glorious and wonderful and possible.” Finding the lost cat was exactly this, as if everything was back in place as it should be. I had fun writing my first Chōka poem in response to this prompt, about the cat coming back. (As explained on #VerseLove, Chōka is a Japanese style of poetry, of indefinite length, consisting of alternating lines of 5 and 7 syllables, with an extra 7-syllable line at the end.) Here is my poem:

you are home again

cold rains bruising breeze
where have you run to for warmth
days of wondering
you slipped out an open door
away from two who
love you feed you tend to you
little cat dear one
everyone’s looking for you
seven days of sad
fearful nights as foxes creep
never you, no you
what can we do but accept
your forever loss?

wait, that’s YOU in our backyard
sitting so pleased with yourself

What I did not express in that poem, however, was the wild fiasco of the chase to catch the cat. Oh my! Seriously, someone should have filmed the adventure for the sheer humor of it.

I dropped my phone call without explanation and phoned my neighbor, who did not answer. I cautiously opened my back door, stepped out into the cold, muddy yard in my socks, called out softly to Dear One, only to send the cat running away, under our shed. I yelped “STOP!” (not an effective word for a cat, in retrospect) and ran to my neighbor’s house, who – thankfully – was out in his backyard.

“Quick! Come! He’s in my backyard!!”

We raced back towards the shed and got down on our bellies to look under it. Together, we tried to cajole the cat to come out from the back recesses. We tried to stretch our bodies long and wide enough around the circumference of the shed to limit the cat’s exit, both of us pleading with tsih-tsih-tsih, kitty-kitty-kitty. My neighbor raced home to collect the humane cage that he’d set up in his backyard, in hopes of catching Dear One. We searched for rocks and bricks to block some of the gaps under the shed, hoping to funnel him towards the cage. We tried to gently poke and prod Dear One, singing and cooing his name, and we offered him food, all to no avail. Dear One watched us with wide scared eyes.

My husband returned home from an errand at this point of the chase. He’s unable to see my neighbor at the far end of the shed, and instead finds only me, crouched, talking to someone invisible. He paused. Then, he asked – “uh, is everything alright?”

No time for small talk! Tony drops what he was doing and joins us, trying to bring Dear One back to safety. “Anxious” has been the cat’s personality since his earliest days, and this situation had him cowering and overwhelmed; he was not coming out from under that shed.

We step back to rethink, reevaluate. I retreat for a brief moment and put on my shoes. Then, the grand (and ultimately successful?) plan: Tony and I will block the sides of the shed while our neighbor sprays a bit of water onto Dear One with the hose – gently, oh so gently. The cage is placed “at the exit.”

Ready, set, let it flow!

In a heartbeat, Dear One surprises us, finding a new and unexpected exit from beneath the shed (makes his way out of no way) and we are all three wildly chasing him along the tight squeeze behind the shed.

(I am immediately reminded of a wayward preschooler who slipped out the school gate towards a very busy road, and it was ‘all hands on deck,’ chasing the errant fellow.)

FINALLY, my neighbor scoops him up – only to have a very frightened Dear One howl, scratch, and bite him. OUCH!! He pops the cat into the waiting cage.

My neighbor’s eyes glistened with joy.

It feels like a small miracle, a hard-earned one, to have that cat back home.

Just today, I returned home from a walk to see Dear One cozily asleep in the front window of his home. My neighbors say that he has been so happy to be home again – purring all the time, staying close by their sides, and demanding to be petted. He has lost a good bit of his anxious aloofness, wanting their company. He has also lost a lot of weight after a week on his own, and they are spoiling him with his favorite foods. All is right with the world.

One wonders what went on while he was ‘in the wild.’

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Stretching

Published on February 27, 2024

It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you  Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

When my granddaughters (ages 5 and 3) visit, we draw and paint. I keep a small table well-stocked and ‘at the ready,’ with a variety of markers, colored pencils, and drawing paper. Painting together is a little bit more of a production – we do this at the craft table in my basement, near to the utility sink for rinsing all those brushes and wiping up messes.

We go through a lot of paper. Paper, paper, paper, we simply cannot have enough paper around here. I am always looking for ways to make it stretch. I am a scavenger, on the lookout for ‘extras’ – scrap paper at the back side of cards, or cutting blank sections of business mail and other papers, and tearing out the pages at the end of old notebooks and notepads. We like to draw and paint on cardboard boxes, too. A real favorite has been the large rolls of ‘painter’s paper,’ leftover from our home remodeling. We can cover tables with this and draw to our heart’s content.

Just the other day, my poetry writing with Ethical ELA led to a wonderful way to stretch my paper supplies. An inspiration by Amber Harrison introduced me to a fanciful new world: ‘zines.’ I don’t know that I have ever heard of this word before, and I went down a real rabbit hole learning more about these.

The biggest thrill for my granddaughters and their drawing: one sheet of paper can be folded into eight rectangles, and with one simple cut, a small book is created. Yes!! I had to show this to the girls!! As I imagined, they were delighted – busily working on these small pages, creating their own books. They created smaller designs due to the more limited space, and they began to think about their art as storytelling. Wonderful!

I created my first zine as the girls worked on theirs. What whimsical books these can be! I am reminded of the limits and focus of writing into a specific poetry form – I am whittling my thoughts to fit a particular framework. For this first zine, I wrote some silly wordplay we repeat often around here, whenever I can’t remember the word for something…might as well laugh about it. Here’s what my zine layout looks like, unfolded:

Here is my zine ‘poetry’ in a more straightforward fashion –

Whatsis? 
by Nana, AKA Maureen

What’s this called again?
That’s a something-or-other.
A thingamajig.

What did you say?
A doohickey.

What’s a doohickey? 
A whatchamacallit. 
A gubbins.

What?!
A gizmo.
A thingamabob. 
A widget.

A doodad. 
A thingy.
A so-and-so.

Say what?!

Leave it be, so be it, 
I don’t know

The girls laughed when I read this little book to them, capturing our family joke. I am going to play around with this zine idea some more. Next up, I’m creating a zine of healing thoughts to share with a friend who is having surgery next week – just to let her know I am thinking of her.

It is always good to be stretched in new ways – and always good to stretch my paper supplies, too!

See you Friday, at the 17th Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge!

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Slogging Together

Published on February 20, 2024

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 plodded along in good cheer plus muck and mud, moving slowly. Unfortunately, the light snow from the other day, coupled with warming temperatures, created hiking havoc with the trail. Each of us slipped unexpectedly, a time or two.

It’s funny how, when falling unexpectedly, one reaches out to grab – a movement akin to the automatic jerk our bodies make as we drift off to a deep sleep, this impulsive, desperate reach for something, anything, oh please! Hiking, one flails for another person’s flimsy jacket or a spindly sapling or a wild grasp of sheer air. That last one, oops! Down one goes.

That was us, this hiking day. Were we hiking? Or was this an episode of Candid Camera? Thankfully, there were no bruises, no injuries, just slip slide pierced pride. Each of these goofs led to unbridled laughter together. This is why one wears old clothes. This is why one wears hiking boots. This is why one hikes with dear friends. Remember that time when . . .

It was an absolutely marvelous day! Just look about!

Perhaps I got too busy snapping photos of all the gorgeousness around me. A glorious winter day of bright sunshine and crisp air! How I love the woods! The next thing I knew, the trail had disappeared and we had no idea where we were or which way to head.

This is hiking.

There was my husband in the lead, with his hiking app open on his phone, suggesting that we start bushwhacking.

Bushwhacking –

To force one’s way through a forested or overgrown area where no path exists.

I heard my husband say –

“We should reach the trail soon.”

Ugh. So be it. I’m pulling up the rear here, I’ve been too lost in thought, all I can do is follow follow follow.

I really don’t like bushwhacking. Every bramble reaches for me, snagging and harassing. I have no idea which way we are supposed to be going. It is a total trust walk – and, hmm, do I lack trust?

Just then, 
a fluttery commotion 
within the overgrown wilds 
along the tributary 
glorious great blue heron in flight

we saw it lift off
with its choir robe wingspan 
spread so wide
sailing into the blue sky
away from us

we witnessed 
pure elegance

We would have missed this magical beauty if we had stayed on our path. There’s a message in this, yes?

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Words Matter?

Published on February 13, 2024

It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you  Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

The Super Bowl party is a fun tradition with friends, yet it makes me feel trapped. It is challenging to walk out early. I found a nook in the back of the room, surrounded by the lesser fans. I whispered to one that I’d rather be home in bed reading a book. Of course, the game went into overtime. Oh no..I was fried. Finally, the game ended and the celebratory hoopla began. I got up to collect our dishes, pack up our things.

“Wow! Isn’t that graffiti gorgeous?”

I looked back at the television and agreed – “Yes! Look at the colors!”

“I don’t know when I have seen so much pretty graffiti”, she continued.

“It is so thick, just amazing,” I agreed, joking, “They are celebrating that the game has finally ended.”

We looked at each other, puzzled. A glimmer of reality:

Hello.

The word is not graffiti.

What was the word?

malapropism – the mistaken use of a word in place of a similar-sounding one

lethologica – the inability to remember a particular word or name

This was a whole new level of my elusive language skills, my inability to recall a word. Now I am in cahoots with someone else on the use of the wrong word? Oh my! Let’s call this a case of “magnanimous malapropism” or “legendary lethologica.”

Imagine a world where all of us of a certain age are replacing nouns and verbs with new ones, and all of us get along fabulously, enjoying the new tangents these displacements take us.

Here’s to a world where we hold each other with tenderness and joy.

P.S. Yes, I know the word was ‘confetti.‘ We figured it out before we had our coats on, leaving the party.

I have been giggling ever since, and wrote a humorous poem to celebrate the verbal confusion.

I’ve got a poem here about graffiti

oh my! look! such gorgeous graffiti!
toss in the air! celebrate! so dreamy!
jubilant sparkly paper sleeting 
wait
not so 
it ain’t that neaty
fibrous 
      colorful 
             scrappy 
                     streaming
noodly 
        wiggly 
                 shredded 
                           chippies
this word 
eludes 
confounds
perplexy
what the heck is wild paper spaghetti?
macaroni 
         bucatini 
                linguine 
                         rotini 
                               ziti
how did my mind get so cobwebby
I am feeling a wee bit sweaty
you know - scribbly dithery unsteady
ah! sparkly lively flashy confetti

this poem is squirmy springy seedy
stretching me in new ways, sweetie

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Mixtape Poetry

Published on February 6, 2024

It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you  Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

*So many things I would have done, but clouds got in my way* – Joni Mitchell

My slice today is a response to a “mixtape” prompt by the poet Monica Rico, offered by Suleika Jaouad in her Feb 4, 2024 newsletter on Substack, Prompt 281 Butterfly, Flying Home. Monica Rico suggests spreading the lyrics of a favorite song across a page and writing in and around the individual words.

What I find valuable is the ability to speak through something else. It feels like a prayer. It feels like an offering.
Monica Rico, describing this writing process

This mixtape prompt reminded me of found poetry, which Shawndo Fukano told us about back in April 2023.

I wrote a ‘mixtape’ poem about my morning walk. I had a lot of fun, thinking deeply about the walk alongside and in the midst of one of my favorite songs – Joni Mitchell, singing “Clouds.”

(Did you happen to see Joni Mitchell sing this at the Grammys this past Sunday? Just fabulous!)

I am SO smitten with lenten roses, 
which are in MANY different stages of bloom these days, and 
one of several THINGS that catch my eye 
as I wander the neighborhood. 
Walks WOULD be so much peppier if not for these beauties. 
Oh, and trees. 
I HAVE to pause for winter trees and 
search the sky through their bare branches. 
Winter is far from DONE yet there are 
glimpses of spring everywhere. 
See the gardeners are working in the dirt again. 
The sun is bright BUT  you still need to bundle up. 
The air is so clear, 
it CLOUDS my mind a bit, 
leaving me wondering what I was just thinking about. 
All those to-dos and want-to-dos and must-dos 
that I’ve GOT to do - oh bother, no! 
Not  IN this moment, not on this day. 
MY goodness, listen to the birds! 
This precious day, I’m outside, 
watching the seasons change, 
yes, I’m outside, trying to find my WAY . . .

*Do you see an angel in this lenten rose bud? I do!*

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B is for Bird

Published on January 30, 2024

It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you  Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

On babysitting days, Tony’s always a real sport about driving across town to pick up our Bird and bring her back here for the day. He is more of an early riser than I am; I like to wake slowly – and write. This week, however, I was up early, itching to go. It had been three weeks since I laid eyes on my granddaughters, thanks to the timing of Covid-19 sweeping through both our households. I was thrilled to go, and catch a glimpse of her sister Frog before she left for school.

big hugs, big smiles, we’re together

My eyes watered at the hugs I received. I was half-wishing that Frog could play hooky from school for the day, but that seemed a naughty thing for this retired teacher to suggest. Bird and I watched from the window, waving goodbye, as her parents and sister left for the day.

grandchildren and grandparents: mutual adoration society

Bird wanted to ‘show me a few things’ at her house, so we lingered. First order of business, building a Magna-Tile castle for Elsa and Anna. ‘Elsa and Anna,’ oh my. How many years will this movie have such a hold on children? How many years will I have songs from Frozen running through my brain unexpectedly?

let it go!  let it go!

Next, we had to build a Magna-Tile highway. (Magna-Tiles are perhaps my favorite toy – whether home or preschool classroom. Such a clever tool!) This highway stretched from the new castle to Michigan (the girls’ dollhouse).

build and break, think again, redo

Michigan is home to many of Bird’s relatives on Mom’s side of the family. They had visited in early January, a long and memorable car ride for this three year old child. Building the Magna- Tile highway reminded Bird of the need for snacks. I’m sure she and her sister were simply plied with munchies all along the way, on that long trip. So, we searched the kitchen for something fun – ah, blueberry pop tarts! Sure, we can have a pop tart as we build together.

pop tarts and childhood together always

Then she noticed her playdough factory, and decided it was time to play there. I reminded her that Poppa was making her an egg breakfast at our house and that he was looking forward to seeing her. Hint, hint. “I need to pack my princess shoes!” Bird said. (Yes, she got the hint!)

princess dress, plastic heels, let’s go!

We double-checked the tote bag to make sure we had everything we needed for the day. While I look for things like extra clothes such as leggings and a long-sleeved shirt, Bird is tossing in treasured toys: a princess crown, princess gloves, those princess ‘heels’, and a doll or two. Lest you think she is a girly-girl, she finds her favorite toy car and pickup truck. Oh, and the entire large plastic playdough factory, because we have playdough at my house. (Thank goodness for large tote bags.) We also tossed the pop tarts into a food pouch for the drive. Finally, we were ready for the day.

car ride, any length, snacks needed

We had a full and joyous morning at my house, nothing out of the ordinary, just our usual ‘B’ list:

breakfast of eggs, toast, and grapes
baby dolls need regular diaper changes 
bright red playdough tea and cookies 
building a puzzle together is fun 
best solo activity is marker drawing 
bundle up warm for the playground 
balancing practice on curbs and flagstones
blast down the hill full speed 
busy with jeep driving and playscape climbing 
blustery wind suggests we head home
boundless energy zapped, stroller ride back
blueberries and yogurt for lunch
bevy of stories, time for nap
bountiful morning followed by quiet dreaming

Truth is – we all three take a nap!! I’m not a big napper most days – but they have become ‘de rigueur’ on babysitting days.

couch curled, sound asleep, midday bliss

This was just an ordinary babysitting day. This was a wonderful ordinary babysitting day!

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Back It Up

Published on January 23, 2024

It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you  Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

Dear Lower Back,

I write this standing at the counter
since you refuse to let me sit down 
in my cozy chair
I am sorry that I ignored you
all this long time
I admit, I didn’t think about you
at all during these many good months
and that was so wrong of me
I know you are always there for me
supporting me, helping me, bearing with me
and I should have included you 
in all my other pursuits 

The last time things were dark and dirty 
between us
I recognized 
there is work I need to do on a regular basis
to focus on you, build you up, support you
we are together forever in this journey called life
takes two to tango

How long will it take me to learn this fully?
Not just when you get upset?

I know enough about apologies 
to recognize defensiveness and excuses
I want to be humbly apologetic, but . . .
couldn’t you give me a heads up that
I have abandoned you again?
(Just reading this, I see my ego, my self-absorption;
I apologize for this, too)
but . . .when I am in the throes of other ills
this is when you unleash your anger at me?
hurting me at my lowest
feels very calculated and controlling
from my view at the counter here

deep cleansing breath

let’s build on our relationship
I promise to do better by you
one step at a time
today forward
we are one

Love, me

I wrote this letter/poem of apology to my back just a few days ago, when things were falling apart. I have had a tough week, healthwise. After hoping to the contrary, I contracted Covid-19 after all, falling ill the day after last week’s SOL. I thought I had escaped the virus. Not to be.

This was my first time contracting the disease and I gotta say – I am not a fan. I have some low grade back issues, and I have been able to keep these in check through regular exercise. This past week, it was as if the virus settled right inside my lower back and held it in some sort of clench. I could not bend without excruciating pain. I moved with caution and trepidation. Shifting my body to get out of bed involved minutes of motor planning, thinking through my best approach. Sitting felt terrible.

Although my body was exhausted from the virus, I kept standing and walking around – ever so slowly. Vertical was the least painful position. Nothing was automatic anymore. Basic movements, such as putting on my socks or lifting my feet onto a footstool, were beyond my ability. Any surprise or unforeseen movement resulted in searing sensations that simply locked me up, immobilized. Here’s a challenge – try to sneeze or cough without moving unexpectedly. Here’s a second challenge – try to get through Covid-19 without sneezing or coughing.

I was a mess.

The pain was particularly acute during the first day or two, as I struggled with a fever. Then, the fever lifted, and the dagger-like pain in my back subsided substantially.

I reached out to my son who is, unfortunately, very informed about lower back pain, having lived with it since high school due to an injury. My text: What are the top five things you do for a lower back flare up? He wrote –

#1 Avoid the seated position. Sitting is the devil. Lie down on your back or stand whenever possible. (Of course, I was sitting when I read his response - only to stand back up, with a chuckle.)
#2 Walking is the best exercise. It loosens up the back.
#3 Assume the supine position with your knees up and feet on the floor. Tighten your core with your back braced against the ground. 
#4 Heed your Transverse Abdominal Muscles (TAs). Look up where those are and practice tightening them. Keep these tight.
#5 When all else fails, heat and ice!

I thanked my son for his helpful response, and he texted back – Of course! Happy to share about one of my few true areas of expertise. Lol.

I am living that expression “new lease on life.” Covid-19 is on its way out of my body; I feel better each day. I am back to my self-care basics – simple back exercises completed upon waking, before I leave my bed. The yoga mat is unfurled for daily conditioning. I am recommitted to my fitness and health goals – and I will move towards these with care. To a healthier back!

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Children First

Published on January 16, 2024

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 feel great. Yes, I feel fine. Yes!

Each morning for the past couple of days, I wake up and instinctively check for how I am feeling. January has arrived with Covid racing through our family. First, it was the grandkids, who we had just babysat for two days straight. Then, everyone else has been getting sick, one-by-one, in rapid procession, testing positive for Covid. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven of us, so far? Knock on wood, I have escaped. Nevertheless, all plans have been canceled. Tony (not so lucky, enduring his second bout of this virus) and I have been having a very low-key time, taking it easy – working on a puzzle, watching television, and reading books. I’ve made a couple different homemade soups.

I just finished reading the memoir Class by Stephanie Land, a holiday gift from my son. Ms. Land shares the story of her struggles to get a writing degree as a poor and single mother. Throughout the book, I was on edge for her young daughter, growing up in such challenging circumstances. I have been stewing over this quote –

“Resilience as a virtue is assigned, especially to marginalized groups, when systemic structures have created countless barriers to living what the privileged consider a normal life.”
Stephanie Land , Class, pgs. 67-68

It is unusually cold here today, and expected to get colder. We have snow for the first time in a couple of years. My biggest challenge is willing myself to leave the proximity of my quilt and space heater in order to get another cup of hot tea. I am struck by the ease of Covid for me, for our family – and what an absolute crisis this virus or any health issue becomes for the poor.

If I were a single mom right now, 
with young children, 
without family around to help, 
with only hourly-wage work that offers no benefits,
struggling to pay bills,
unable to take time off,
already in debt…
holy smoke, this would be insufferable.

On our car trip to Georgia over winter break, we dashed into a fast food restaurant to use the bathroom. I noticed a young child, maybe three or four years old, in a booth by herself in the back corner, with coloring books and crayons; the child had a deep cough. “Mom” was an employee behind the counter; she rushed over to check on her child when there were no customers in the queue.

It is beyond appalling that our great country has no safety net in place (or only a very broken, torn, ripped safety net) for those who need it. The child poverty rate is nearly 15% in America. This is outrageous. This is appalling. This is criminal.

Did you read that many states are turning down food assistance for poor children during the summer months? As the Center for American Progress writes – Poverty is a policy choice. Here are their 12 solutions to eradicate poverty in America.

The world now has the means to end extreme poverty, 
we pray we will have the will. 
                                                                              (Source:  Rev. Barbara Crafton, 
                                                                              “The Counting Prayer”)

I needed to have a bit of levity in this post – here’s one of my favorite photos from teaching preschoolers.

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.