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Children First

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.
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A Poem A Day

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

Last week, I shared that my one little word for 2024 is ‘hold.’ Nine days into this new year, I am having fun writing one ‘summative’ poem a day, some aspect of the day that I want to hold onto – or that I am so preoccupied by, it has a hold on me. (I’d prefer all my ‘holds’ to be uplifting, but let’s be real – life isn’t that way.)

Basically, this is poetry as daily reflection. My poetry is weak/easy, mostly ‘free’ writing with no specific forms being used…I am not feeling especially proud of the writing itself. However, I am excited by how the writing settles me, allowing me to pause for a bit and review my day. It has been a nice intention for the new year – to stop and think about what I want to remember about each day. 

I have lots of questions for myself, beyond whether I’ll be able to write a poem a day. I’m wondering if there will be patterns to what I’m writing about, if I’ll revisit the same topics over and over again. I wonder if my poetry writing will improve, especially if I try to write into new and different forms of poetry. I wonder if I’ll feel ‘called’ to edit, rewrite, or rethink certain poems. 

For now, I’m just exploring. Here’s today’s poem – from babysitting three-year-old Bird, my granddaughter. 

she tucks herself in now

she never wants me to tarry
at naptime
insists I leave
and she unwinds
readies for bed
all by herself

she is growing up too quickly

later
I slip in
to witness
her stir from her nap

she is snuggling
under a blanket 

and laying right next to her
its small head poking out
is a plush small giraffe
nestled under its own little blanket

so dear

did she sing
did she coo
did she hold
the giraffe
before its nap?
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Life is Fleeting

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 just returned from a holiday week in Georgia – visiting my “in-laws,” the family and friends that I gained through marriage. Each day was filled with many wonderful connections with others, sharing meals and conversation. As always, we did lots of driving, meeting loved ones in sundry locations. I enjoyed looking out the car window as we drove about, taking in the sights. I took a few photos. 

On the long drive home, I reviewed my phone photos and amused myself with tinkering with the lighting, zoom, and other editing tools. I was fascinated by several ‘nature’ snapshots – a pretty sunset, passing clouds, the trees on one of our walks. I’ve included a few here – little moments of awe that I happened to capture, and now I am able to hold onto, longer. 

It was challenging to write while we drove; I am glad I had the camera to help me collect memories. When we got home, I wrote and wrote, trying to record the highs and lows of our adventure. As with those nature photos I took, this is the purpose of my daily writing practice: to hold onto, longer. Writing helps me hold precious moments, whether with loved ones, or in nature, or simply in my imagination. 

I hope to do lots more writing in this new year.

When we pulled into the driveway after our long trip, the shrubs were noisy with happy birds, and so I played with a haiku – 

bevy of chatter
starlings frolic in the bush
welcoming us home

In this new year, I seek again to create poetry and prose that builds on the good things in my life and allows me to hold these close, to be present, and to savor.

Life is fleeting. 
How might I hold it?

Hold onto
Hold up
Hold fast
Hold strong
Holding

My one little word for 2024 is hold.
Sunset near Albany, Georgia
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On Moving On

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 not easy to move in December. 

I suppose 
the month
doesn’t matter so much. 

It’s just not easy to move.
It is not easy to move 
from your home of 30-plus years 
where you raised your kids 
acquired, stored, and forgot about 
infinite treasures
filling every inch of space. 

No, this kind of move is not easy. 
It’s not easy to move 
to a new home 
several states away
planning 
what you want to put on a truck
what you’ll need in the days (weeks?) 
in-between 
being in one place and next
waiting for your stuff to arrive.

No, it’s not easy. 
It is not easy to do this 
alone 
all by yourself. 

Which is why 
I went to help.
I just returned 
from a very hard and successful week 
at my college bestie’s
‘old house’
where we worked non-stop

sorting packing wrapping boxing 
taping lifting loading re-doing 
squishing counting rushing 
tossing donating keeping 
In a few more days 
she will have a new home 
here in Maryland 

she will live 
not only 
closer to me 
but to 
her daughter 
her sister and 
other family. 

It is a wonderful move - 
and not easy!
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Being Coupled

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 slipped into bed unusually early – around 9pm, leaving him alone in front of the television, unwinding from the day. I was so exhausted, all I wanted was sleep. I didn’t have the mental capacity to watch anything. Bone weary. Beyond fatigued. Done.

I slipped under the sheets, settled my body, and counted the hours of sleep that awaited me: 9 to midnight – that’s 3, plus 6 more…nine hours of sleep! This was going to be glorious.

Only my body settled. My mind began to skip, run, race about, a bit pinball-like: 

tomorrow's to do's
                                                        today's horrible headlines
                      addiction runs in our family
                                                                                                   oh my, so much pain in the world
unending war

I started a meditative body scan, sending soft, calming breath into my toes, and working my way up…the base of my foot…the ankle…my failsafe technique for calming down…breathing in fully, exhaling softly. Before I had made my way to my knees, I was riddled with questions, mulling over moments from the busy weekend…

was that a rude tone, or am I just imagining it?
                                          I should have insisted
                                                                                                       wait, am I hungry?
              how serious is their relationship?

       should I get out of bed and write that down before I forget?

Time to try the body scan again.

And, fail.

I. Was. Alert. 

My body wanted to be in this warm, cozy bed but my brain did not.

Back and forth, I went …and then I saw that it was now 10:30pm, and I groaned: This is ridiculous!

A groan heard by hubby.

Hon, you still awake? I’m going to turn the light on to find my chapstick.

The light blasts on immediately and I race to cover my eyes with my pillow, groaning – What?! I’m trying to sleep!

But, you aren’t asleep, so the light doesn’t matter.

BUT!! What was your strategy for finding the chapstick if I WAS asleep? 

My strategy for finding my chapstick? You are a teacher! Ha!, he chuckles and turns off the light, giving me a gentle kiss.

G’night, hon.

G’night. 

Within seconds, I hear his breathing transition into the deep, luxurious exchanges of him sleeping…

Oh, this was not fair.

I concentrated on his breath and tried to breathe along with him, freeing my mind of all other nonsense, just breathing… in, in…out, out, out…in, in ….

And then it was morning.

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Rekindled Joy

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 biggest, grandest, happiest hug. 

I was smiling ear to ear with anticipation when I heard her knock at the door, and then we just locked in and held one another. 

It had been so long since we’d seen one another, much too long. 

When I texted her Happy Birthday this year, I offered a few dates as well – please, please, please, let’s get together! How about you and your husband come to dinner at our house? 

How to explain how year after year can go by without seeing a dear soul who lives less than 20 miles away? The Christmas cards, the phone calls, the texts simply weren’t cutting it for me anymore; time feels more and more precious. 

As the chili stewed on the stove, I did a quick look through my photo boxes to see if I had any pictures of our time together. She squealed with delight at these treasures on the coffee table, and we started talking and sharing – laughing, crying, holding. Remembering.

She’s my ‘little sister.’ 

When I was 26 years old, I volunteered with a Washington, D.C. nonprofit, to befriend and mentor two little girls – let’s call them Audrey and Theta. When we first met, Audrey was nine years old and her younger sister Theta was seven years old. Their mother was a single parent, unemployed, and suffering from alcohol addiction; she was dearly loved by her eight children. An older brother (a Marine) put the family in touch with the nonprofit, seeking more stability and support for his siblings and Mom. 

(I have not used real names, to protect their privacy and for ease in storytelling. Audrey means noble and strong, which seems so apropos. Theta is the Greek name for eight – and being the eighth child in her family, this name fits nicely, in my opinion.)

Picnic near the Jefferson Memorial, circa 1987

We would meet up on Tuesday afternoons and do all sorts of fun things: go for walks, visit museums, get ice cream, have a picnic, play board games, go to the zoo…countless small, sweet get-togethers. One really fun memory was when my roommate and I threw Audrey a birthday party – her first ever – when she  turned 10. We had balloons, cake, and party games. Audrey invited four friends, and I got permission from their families for these youngsters to spend time at my apartment. We had such a great time! 

The neighborhood where Audrey and Theta lived was really rough. I remember vividly how, the first couple of times I pulled up outside their apartment building, a couple guys rushed my car and offered to sell me drugs. I remember feeling a little scared and out of place. The third time and ever after, when I visited the neighborhood to pick up the girls for our special time together, these same two saw my car and bellowed from the street towards the apartments  – “Audrey! Theta! Your friend is here to get you! Come down!!” I was recognized and trusted. 

Our deep, regular connection lasted about two years. I got married and both girls came to my wedding. We continued to see each other frequently, though it was no longer weekly. One very special outing was when Tony and I took them to the Shenandoah mountains for a hiking adventure. By the time my third child was born and the girls were high school grads, we kept in touch but our visits with each other were much more rare.

Theta got involved in drugs as a teenager, and life spiraled in an ugly direction…and she died in her mid 20’s. It was a tragedy, truly devastating, to lose this precious person so young. 

Audrey is doing so great. It was wonderful to be in her company this week, to hear about her full life. She and her husband are in their mid-40s now, married for twenty years, with two young adult children of their own. They have a storybook romance – meeting one another in middle school, becoming the best of friends, and they have been together ever since. 

When I think about the poverty and addictions that surrounded her in childhood, her life today feels remarkable. She simply put one foot in front of the other, despite all. Her mother and five siblings have died, and Audrey is the matriarch of her family now, caring for and cherishing niblings and cousins.  

At dinner, Audrey asked me,

How did you decide to do this volunteer work, way back then? 

I’ve been puzzling on this question all week. I simply cannot remember what bit of magic led to this adventure. How did I hear about the nonprofit? Where did I get the idea? What I know for sure: I had a dry, dull job at a consulting firm where I trained Federal employees on how to use custom software – and I simply wanted more in my life. I had this gnawing desire for children – and no obvious path forward. I didn’t have a boyfriend or a special someone. 

Yes, I decided to become a big sister, in order to have children in my life. One of the best decisions I have ever made!

Our dinner together was so awesome. We made plans to have dinner again early in the new year, this time with all our children, too. We are not going to let so much time pass again without seeing one another. 

Until then, I will keep replaying our hug. 

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Laugh Out Loud

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 have a joke for you, she said.

What do you call a pigeon with a cuckoo clock?

That’s it. Yep, that’s the entirety of three year old Bird’s joke. 

She asked me with these big eyes and followed this question with a happy laugh. I looked back with brief puzzled silence, and then I could not stop laughing, it was just so precious and funny. May she never stop telling this joke!

A good reminder – one doesn’t always have to ‘get things right’ to be well-received.

It’s been a week of extremes. This sweet grandchild ended up in the emergency room with a virus that led to difficulty breathing, one of those 4 a.m. horrors that seem a rite of passage for parents. Her dad had asthma when he was young, and sure enough, this was the doctor’s diagnosis. Thankfully, she has responded quite well to the meds, and she is back home, recovering. 

Though, I should add –  she is not at all inclined to TAKE those meds. We are babysitting her today, and it is quite the nightmare, getting foul-tasting meds into her little mouth…I am not at all convinced any has been swallowed. Trying new and mysterious things is not everyone’s cup of tea! 

My college bestie is in town, from Connecticut. C is single and retired, with a daughter who lives here in the D.C. area and who is expecting a baby (a grandchild for C!) this spring. It makes so much wonderful sense for C to move here – nearer to family and friends. C and I have been house-hunting for two weeks, seeing one place after another. Finding a new home (with a limited budget) is overwhelming and exhausting and a wee bit scary, too. Change is hard! 

It’s good to keep a sense of humor throughout.

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Now and Then

One of the most poetic aspects of autumn, I think, is how the concept of ‘past’ is on full display in nature. Just look at the trees! Here in Maryland, the beautiful fall colors are disappearing, rakes and leaf blowers are hard at work, and deciduous trees are becoming bare.

Transition. 

Thinking about forever gone, thinking about burrowing, wondering what comes next.

Both granddaughters have fall birthdays. Unbelievably, Frog has turned five years old. Bird will turn three years old later this week. 

How to slow time? 

Ah, this is impossible.

So we delight in what we have. 

Bird was here for a sleepover just last night, all by herself. We do this from time to time, when we are scheduled for two days in a row of babysitting. Truly, it saves both the grandparents and the parents a lot of hassle – no need to pack up and get children out the door early in the morning, no need to drive across the city to each other’s house twice in a day. 

What a treat it is to have this one-on-one time.

Time felt limitless. No deadlines, no pressure, no must-do’s. Making blueberry pancakes. Let’s draw together. Oh, how about paints and glue? Baking sheets filled with playdough cookies. There was a moment where I was a playscape for her babydolls. Another, where Bird, Poppa, and I had a meandering walk to the playground. We sat on a curb and held vigil at a neighbor’s yard, where a tree was being trimmed and a loud chipper shredder drew Bird’s focus. We went for a short walk after dinner, in the dark, to find the moon.

In the early morning, she lingered in her bedroom (right next to ours) to play and chat with herself – something that rarely ever happens at her own home, when there’s a big sister to follow and adore.

Grandchildren – an oasis of bliss in a sad and painful world.

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The Messy Mix

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

This is the way I always heard it.

Preacher Jim shared the word of the Lord with all who would listen, and never could make enough money for his family through his sermonizing alone. He’d preach here or there in small country churches throughout Georgia and he had a brief tenure as church pastor in a couple small churches, but each of these had only a very few (and poor) congregants and the donations were scarce. Preacher Jim’s dear family was  a large one, with thirteen children born over the course of twenty-five years – many mouths to feed, many bodies to dress, and a house to take care of and keep warm in the wintertime. So Preacher Jim took on any additional good job that he could find. He was a hard worker and skilled, a ‘jack of all trades.’ He worked as a tenant farmer for several years, in a couple different locations, growing and harvesting corn and cotton. He worked for a time in a mill. He was a pretty good carpenter and worked at a cabinet shop, and for a short (and non-lucrative) while, he had his own cabinet shop. Throughout all these gigs, his main work was preaching, with a multitude of Wednesday evening services and long Sundays in the pulpit. 

One of the very best jobs he worked was at a local construction site. Preacher Jim was responsible for creating concrete forms – pouring the concrete, letting the concrete set, removing the form, and moving the finished piece across the yard onto railway cars or trucks. The work was grueling but it paid well, and it was good for the family to have dependable money. 

Preacher Jim was able to get one of his sons (Keith) a summer job there at the construction yard. Newly graduated from high school, turning 18 that fall, Keith was so excited to have this work. He was living the dream: a girlfriend, a car, and a little money in his pocket. Life was good.

That day in August, one of the concrete forms was being moved across the yard, tied up with cable, and attached to a small lift or crane of some sort, when all of sudden, the cable snapped.

The concrete form hit the high school grad in the back of the head. 

His dear father, Preacher Jim, was right there as it happened. How to describe witnessing such a horrendous scene, to see his own son killed in this freak accident?

The family. Oh, how they mourned.  

The owners of the construction company sent a huge wreath to the funeral. They made a personal visit to the family, too, promising to keep Preacher Jim on as an employee and asking him not to pursue a lawsuit. In all probability, OSHA safety regulations were broken at the yard that day, for such an accident to occur. A lawyer or two came by the house, with the promise of big money if Preacher Jim would simply agree to hire them, to have them file a lawsuit in pursuit of money for his son, killed in the prime of his life. 

Preacher Jim responded, 

“No. No amount of money will ever bring our boy back.”

This is the way I always heard it. 

I only know my brother-in-law Keith through these stories, 
through his siblings sharing aloud about that tragic day. 
I’ve watched the way this pain lingers in my husband Tony and his siblings. 
The family has grieved deeply over this one unexpected and tragic loss, 
the grief is always.

Tony was two years younger than Keith; they were the best of friends. Marrying into the family so many years after Keith was killed, never having met him and only knowing ‘of’ him, I see clearly how lives – so many lives – were affected by the trauma of his one life lost too young. Even now, so many years later, there is a soft sadness every autumn, at the time of Keith’s birthday; he would be 73 years old.

An ache that never completely goes away.

I’m humbled by Preacher Jim’s commitment to life – his desire to not seek payback, to say, instead, enough is enough. 

Will we ever get to a place where we say, as a society, enough is enough? Might we seek something other than retribution? What would happen if we leaned into the messy mix of love and grief and somehow created a way forward with one another?

Must hurt people hurt people? 

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New River

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

To celebrate my oldest son’s birthday, we had a family getaway to New River Gorge National Park – a weekend of hiking and autumn leaf viewing. This West Virginia park is only about a five hour drive from our home in Maryland, and made for a wonderful location for a few fun days.

Our Friday was misty and chilly, yet quite beautiful for hiking. Let me share just a few of photos –

Much to our surprise – and good fortune – we had an even more special Saturday. We had no idea when we booked our travels that October 21st was the annual Bridge Day.  The New River Gorge Bridge in Fayetteville, West Virginia is the longest single-span arch bridge in the western hemisphere, measuring some 3030 feet with the arch alone measuring 1700 feet. The bridge was completed in 1977; since 1980, there has been an annual festival in its honor.

On this single day, the bridge is closed to vehicular traffic. There is an enormous festival on the bridge, with vendors hawking food and crafts up and down the entire expanse. In the middle of the bridge, gutsy folks base jump off the bridge – which, seriously, has to be one of the most terrifying sports I have ever witnessed. It was wild to watch. Can you find the base jumper /parachute in the photo below? Who would dare to jump from such a height?

We spent a beautiful fall morning walking the bridge and enjoying the sights. Plus, of course, eating – yummy funnel cakes, barbecue, cotton candy, and pizza. Festivals demand that one partake, yes?

Later in the afternoon, we hiked Long Point trail, which allowed us to have a breathtaking view of the bridge from the side. We also enjoyed the surrounding fall foliage and we watched more of the daring base jumpers perform, from a much farther distance.

This is my oldest son (the birthday boy) and his daughter/my granddaughter, watching the base jumpers.

It was a fabulous weekend!

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