Skip to content

Category: SOLSC

#SOL24-16 Sunrise

Published on March 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!
sky before dawn

We spoke not a word as we fumbled in the dark, searching for our sweatshirts and our shoes, and trying our best not to disturb their sleeping. The door creaked when we opened it, and we slipped out and closed the door behind us as quietly as possible. We walked down the unlit stairs, making our way in the grey, to the winding path. Trees loomed like benevolent spirits with their loose-fitting Spanish moss dancing in the early morning breeze. Carolina Wren and Carolina Chickadee provided the soundtrack to our spontaneous pursuit of watching the sunrise on the beach. 

The young girl’s reed hut stood strong in the dark of dawn. She had spent the whole afternoon working on this, patiently searching for reeds in the sand, separating the lengthy and straight ones, adding these one by one to create her tiny home. I had thought the tides would sweep this away, yet here it is, greeting us on the beach.

there’s a straw hut shadowed in the forefront

I saw immediately that we were not alone in the quiet, and I admit to feeling a bit of frustration. Who were all these folks, walking and waiting, just like us, along the beach? They walked in singles and pairs, perhaps two dozen folks in all. Their dogs raced with joy across the sand. There was a threesome of young athletes, performing jumping jacks, high knees, twists, skipping, and waving their arms high.

I wanted these strangers to leave
to leave the sunrise for me 
yet why do I presume to be
overseer 
of the sunrise?

Is it somehow more mine simply because it is my first time all week getting out of bed early enough to witness it? There is more than enough for all of us. There is so much joy in the viewing.

In a touch of irony, one dog walker calls out to me – “I took a lovely photo of you two in the early morning light, would you like it?” 

Her photo was a gift, and a gentle reminder to be kind. 

The stranger gave us this photo, showing the two of us together at sunrise.

We continued our walking, towards the sunrise, slowly, slowly, slowly.

It was magnificent. 

I suppose if one watched the sunrise each and every morning, they might say this one was average. An overcast start to the day obscured the sun, and it was a full half hour after the forecasted sunrise time before the clouds released the sun to us. However, as our only sunrise of the week (thank you, last weekend’s time change), it was absolutely glorious to us.

Here is a close up of that young girl’s straw hut, in better light:

rippling 

light isn’t always boisterous
bright front and center
sometimes it is a quiet offering
wavering shyly along the margins
slow to comprehend
look to the edges for light
gift a stranger a sliver
one last glimpse of sunrise, as we return home
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.

#SOL24-14 Wonder

Published on March 14, 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!

If you and I were home, sipping tea, talking about favorite places to be, I’d assure you I love the mountains. I’d say, put me in the woods, let me hike and climb. The mountains are filled with such beauty and wonder. Yes, mountains are my most favorite place.  

But, hey, how can I deny the sea? I may not be a sunbather, but there really is no such thing as a bad day at the beach. It is glorious to walk alongside, and to be amazed. 

This old photo shows I have always loved being at the ocean, too. 

I’ve been writing a poem a day in 2024, and vacation doesn’t give me a pass. Today’s poem celebrates the wondrous sights of our beach vacation.

Hilton Head Island 

Low Tide mingles with New Moon 
Rippling waves begin to dance
Alligators sun at the lagoon
Osprey hides on a branch

Slender Fish jumps high with glee
Driftwood floats slowly along
Great Heron glides just beneath
Yellow Warbler creates a song

Shorebirds gather on found wood
Dolphins play hide and seek 
How still Snowy Egret stood
As we laze upon the beach

#SOL24-13 Strands

Published on March 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!

When my granddaughters play with Mardi Gras beads, the necklaces invariably get all tangled up together, into one big mash up of colorful plastic, where it is nearly impossible to find a beginning string or a way to separate them. The girls always bring the mess to me and sit right at my elbow as I struggle. There is no right way to approach the glob; any strand can be pulled out, in any order. When order is resumed, it is often mere minutes before the girls have tangled them up again. I’ve wondered if maybe this is the point of the girls’ play, to purposefully tie these chains up into each other, just to watch me fuss, taking them apart. 

Yes, I hid the necklaces in a cabinet after one long morning of this “fun” recently.

Where to begin a short introductory story on Hilton Head Island and me? My many memories and reflections are similar to that knot of beads. I’m here and I’m lost in thought, trying to tease things apart. 

Should I tell you how I first visited here when I was in grad school at the University of South Carolina, how my grandmother’s cousin had bought a home here on the ‘old, established’ part of the island, and she welcomed me for a weekend? I remember feeling so out of place, in this quiet, secluded, beautiful beach location. It felt far too fancy for me. 

Is there a necklace strand for before the island’s development? What is the history of this place? Who were the indigenous peoples? Who were the Black slaves who worked the plantations?

There’s now a strand for the Gullah people, buried in the cemetery we happened upon, that I wrote about yesterday. 

There’s another strand of necklace, with my parents retiring here, buying that cousin’s home, when she and her husband needed to move into assisted-living in their frail, elderly years. My parents had many happy years here, far from all five of their children/families, enjoying their independence and the beauty of this island. 

Tony and I did make many happy spring break trips here with the boys, over the years.

Notice the strand, always present, of how uncomfortable I was that the community was “gated,” only for owners and their guests, and almost everyone was white.

There’s a strand where my parents encounter their own health crises, how Mom aged into dementia and Dad into Parkinson’s, a ten year period where we ‘kids’ made countless depressing trips to offer additional care. I lived closest to them, some ten hours north. Finally, my parents moved into assisted-living near my brother, in Maine. Oh, and then we had the ugly task of clearing out their home here and putting it up for sale, leaving us all a good bit soured on ‘life on the island.’

This week’s vacation features a strand where we pedaled by my parents’ old home and it’s been completely transformed and is now a rental property that we cannot afford to lease. All the beautiful landscaping that my father tended daily – well, that has been eliminated and replaced by a pool. 

When our vacation week ends, I wonder if all these melancholy musings will be back up on a shelf, like those Mardi Gras necklaces.

starfish stranded
weeping for its ocean home
died alone
while all the tourists oohed and aahed
at their find
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.

#SOL24-12 Cemetery

Published on March 12, 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 are having an amazing trip to the beach, here in Hilton Head, South Carolina, enjoying long walks on the beach and easy bike rides along the leisure trails. Everything is so picture perfect. 

Until I look a little closer.

Along the ocean’s bend 
a cemetery 
surrounded by condos and 
a golf course. 

Let me say that again.

A weathered old cemetery 
loved ones buried before
the Civil War
now 
consumed by
covered by
no, smothered by 
real estate money making vacation 
homes and fairways. 

A handful of headstones.
An historical marker: 

Braddock Point Cemetery

A Gullah cemetery.

Here’s a quote from that same website:

Located in Harbour Town, this small cemetery is the final resting place of the Chisolm and Williams families, descendants of enslaved West Africans who toiled on Braddock’s Point Plantation.

https://www.hiltonhead.com/sacred-cemeteries-in-sea-pines/

To see this juxtaposition, these solemn graves with the commercial giddy vibrance of everything else in sight, I can’t find the right words. I am absolutely appalled. 

Please tell me how this came to be. Who signed off on this development? How is this not a high crime by some public official? A white collar crime by developers? Was anyone arrested for such disrespect? Around what conference table did the soulless make the decision to build here, exactly here? 

Did ANYONE protest? Was it even debated? Did ANYONE speak up and say “I don’t think this is a good idea.”? 

Truly, 
a sickening image of capitalism, 
of white supremacy, 
of I will do what I want to do, and 
you and your loved ones do not matter at all.

The cemetery continues to be maintained by descendents of the buried. This feels beautiful and right to me. Of course, the descendents had to fight for this privilege. They had to fight for the historical marker. They had to fight for the right to continue coming to this now gated part of the island to tend to the graves, to pray and remember. I wonder if they have to pay the $9 entrance fee at the gate, each time they visit? 

We’ll be learning more about Gullah history on the island in the days to come. According to my initial research, over 100 people were buried here; less than 40 gravesites remain. 

Here’s a 2023 article from the New York Times about Black cemeteries and the quest to preserve them, with this quote:

Washington provides little help. Late last year, Congress passed the African American Burial Grounds Preservation Act, which authorized $3 million for competitive grants to identify, research and preserve Black cemeteries. Congress has yet to appropriate even that.

New York Times, https://www.nytimes.com/2023/09/27/us/black-cemeteries.html
condos swallow slave graves
 body soul spirit cannot be erased
families hold in loving homage
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.

#SOL24-10 Firsts

Published on March 10, 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 FIRST real signs of spring were around Fayetteville, North Carolina, where we stopped for the night, to break up the long drive south. There were lots of flowering trees and bushes; here are a few photos to share the joy:

The FIRST flowering redbuds – my favorite spring flowering tree – were just south of Florence, SC. This means the redbud in my front yard in Maryland should not flower until I return from this trip – yay! I want to be home for this beautiful sight. 

The FIRST time the four of us traveled together was last March. We had so much fun, we insisted on a reprise – here we are, my brother, sister-in-law, husband, and I, on vacation together in the Lowcountry of South Carolina. 

The FIRST celebration of the week is my brother’s birthday; later we’ll celebrate Tony’s & my anniversary – this is a joyful time for a getaway.  

The FIRST blast of truly warm air was at the rest stop on I-95 near Ridgeland, SC. Until then, we’d had a cool rainy drive south. We spread our arms wide and spun around, rejoicing, in the parking lot – this feels like vacation!

The FIRST sighting of Spanish moss was on Carolina route 462 – this growth means Lowcountry to me. Spanish moss needs just the right mix of salty, marshy air, humidity, and heat, in order to grow and spread. It dances through trees in this part of the south, flowing from branches. 

photo taken from the car window . . .

The FIRST slice from our vacation is this brief one. More to come! 

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.

#SOL24-8 Brownies

Published on March 8, 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!

FEELING COCKY

For years and years and years, I have baked homemade brownies, only homemade brownies, yummy homemade brownies. It’s really simple. I can be a little snooty about it, refusing to cook from a packaged mix.

I use the simple recipe on Baker’s Unsweetened Chocolate for ‘one bowl brownies.’ I always stir in a bag of chocolate chips as my final step before baking. (Is it possible to have too much chocolate? I don’t think so.) These are a crowd pleaser and I can basically make them with my eyes closed.

Be careful of what has become too ordinary for you. 

I set the oven, got out my bowl, and began to measure the ingredients. I got out a small second bowl to beat the eggs. I suppose Baker’s Chocolate Company would be disappointed in this second bowl, but one must put their own flourishes on recipes. Over the years, I have learned that I prefer to beat the eggs separately, rather than try to do so while combining them with the chocolate and sugar. 

Measure, mix, stir, yum. Everything is going well. I stir in the chocolate chips as the final step.

CONFUSION

Hmm. The mix looks a little different. Thicker. I can see the granules of sugar, and I don’t remember that being so before. I guess I haven’t made these in a long time. They’ll melt into yum in the oven, I reassure myself. 

Into the oven they go. I set the oven for thirty minutes and begin cleaning up the cooking mess.

Two minutes into their baking, I find the separate bowl of eggs. As in, sitting on the opposite end of the counter. As in, never stirred into the batter. Step 3!! Yikes! I rushed to the oven and took out the pan and prayed the brownies hadn’t cooked too much. Two minutes? That can’t be a big deal, right? 

I scraped the mixture into a third bowl. Bowl one was in the sink with soapy bubbles. Bowl two had the eggs. Oh my. 

I quickly mixed in the eggs – not at all easy to do, when flour and chips are in there, too. I’ve heard that you shouldn’t beat brownies too much…it makes them dry…ugh, there’s no escaping this now, I must beat in the eggs.

Done.

I popped them back into the oven, and set the timer for 25 minutes, so they wouldn’t overcook.

GOBSMACKED

I’m out of the room when the timer rings, so my dear husband turns it off. I jump over to the oven and speak to him with frustration – “Look! You turned off the OVEN, not just the timer! I may need to cook them longer.”

“I thought I hit the timer button not the on/off for the oven, sorry!” 

I open the oven door and it is cold. As in, no heat whatsoever. Brownies haven’t cooked at all. The oven hasn’t been on! What?!

I put the uncooked brownies on the counter, exasperated. I thought about my process . . .

CONTRITION

Oh my goodness. The mistake was TOTALLY MINE. Back when I rushed to the oven to grab the brownies and then mix in the eggs, that is when I myself must have turned off the oven. In haste.

(A quick temper will make a fool of you soon enough.)

I apologized to my husband for my snippy tone; it was not his mistake. 

I am beyond frustrated with these brownies, and with myself.. These ‘simple’ homemade brownies! My ‘go-to’ favorite! Oh my.

I turned the oven on. Waited for it to reheat. Popped the brownies back in. Again, I set the timer for 25 minutes. I double-checked that the oven was heated. I went back to my writing and waited for the timer to go off. 

In a matter of minutes, the room began to smell so heavenly. They were definitely cooking this time around.

EPILOGUE

Don’t they look delicious? 

No, they were an epic fail. 

Dry, crumbly, possibly overcooked. They were impossible to cut. 

One star for flavor.

Boo hoo. 

Served with ice cream, everyone was complimentary. But I knew better. (Still cocky, I guess.)

Simple recipes are meant to be simply followed. 

#SOL24-7 Cleaning

Published on March 7, 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 tell myself it is all about the guest room, and I begin dusting and straightening there. Of course, I notice ‘junk’ that shouldn’t even be in that room at all, so I gather these and wander away. I am an awesome culler when company is coming, so several of these find their way to the donation bin or to the trash. The donation bin is in the laundry room, so I throw in a load and fold what’s hanging out in the dryer. Then I begin to tidy that room, too. I remind myself that the priority for cleaning is the guest room. I grab the vacuum and head back upstairs, but I go through the kitchen and the counters need wiping. Look over there, I say to myself, I should vacuum the family room rug. In the midst of vacuuming here, I notice that the dining room table needs another leaf in it, because there will be ten of us for dinner tonight. Where is the leaf? The leaf is stored in the basement – and of course, it is very dusty. Let me clean that…

This is how I clean before company – I begin highly-focused, honed-in on one particular room of the house, and then it’s this wild spree where I am cleaning any and all things in my path. My route is up, down, over, under, around, around, around, faster, faster, faster.

Let me draw you a diagram of my house cleaning process:

I’m not sure why I get so worked up about having everything “just so.”  My brother and sister-in-law are visiting, and they are dear and easy-going guests. The kids are going to join us for dinner, it will be a joyful and fun time together. 

And the house looks great, lol!

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.

#SOL24-6 Misty

Published on March 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!

Our morning playground routine was booted out by rain. This was a steady, welcoming, “let’s sit down and write” kind of rain, if it were any other day of the week. However, a babysitting day means we have to get our bodies moving.

I connected my phone to the wireless speaker and played Laurie Berkner’s “Moon Moon Moon.” I think Laurie Berkner’s singing voice may be my favorite for children’s songs, and this one song is my all-time favorite of hers. This ode moves from gentle lullaby into a jazzy dance refrain.

Just like that, Poppa, Nana, and Bird had an impromptu dance party. 

After Laurie Berkner sang, we asked Bird what she’d like to hear, letting her be the DJ for the dancing. She loved this! With an older sister, I suspect she isn’t often making all the decisions. Her playlist was an unexpected (and uneven) melange of Disney princess with rock and roll, moving us in very silly ways. For example,

  • Disney’s “Let it Go” (floating around, with wide theatrical emotional princess arms)
  • Proclaimers’ “I Will Walk 500 Miles” (high knees, exaggerated steps) 
  • Disney’s “Theme from Little Mermaid” (fish face required)
  • The Bangles’ “Walk Like an Egyptian” (stiff arm sideways walking)
  • The Go-Go’s “My Lips are Sealed” (rock dancing, throw in some squats)

Disney’s “Beauty and the Beast” (twirling slowly, theatrical arms) made my eyes mist, unexpectedly tapping into the memory of my son being captivated by this movie soundtrack; how I loved hearing him sing along. My goodness, time goes by much too quickly. Tale as old as time. 

Then somebody bends
Unexpectedly
Just a little change
Small to say the least
         - "Beauty and the Beast," song written by Celine Dion and Peobo Bryson

Later, the downpour stopped and we went walking in a misty rain.I was mesmerized by the emerging growth all around. 

There is tiny flowering on trees, perennials sticking their heads up out of the ground, and bulbs popping up everywhere. Joanne Toft’s slice from yesterday touched on this same joy, noting the spring splendor of tiny Winter Aconite emerging from the ground. She added excitedly “I have been wanting to draw and paint these little guys,” to which I totally relate. There I am with my camera, trying to capture the right angle and lighting, hoping to get a good image of these first baby changes. 

Nature shifts in subtle yet breathtaking ways this time of year. This is how transformation begins. 

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.

#SOL24-5 Crows

Published on March 5, 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!

Bird and I were savoring the warmth of this spring day from the sandbox. Her shoes and socks were strewn on the ground to the side. The sand was clammy and cold, and the three-year-old was fervently working on filling containers and then flipping the molds out. A variety of bugs had taken up residence in the sandbox, during the many months we had left it closed up. I used a play shovel to remove them gently, one by one, at her insistence. The gentle part was my requirement, and I tarried a moment with each shovelful so that she might see these small beings up close in a benign way. They mean her no harm, I repeated, they are just living their lives. Lucky them, finding our sandbox as a nice home away from the winter cold. 

All of a sudden, we were greeted by loud and resounding bird chatter, with the most discernible voices being piercing caws from humble crows. Looking up, I witnessed swarms of crows – a murder, as it were – in the air above, wildly circling one another and the winter trees. My glance shifted high into the treetops, madly searching for the focus or goal of all this ruckus, and I saw the branches bustling and swaying, quite literally in motion. It was a scene from a Hitchcock movie, and I stood there transfixed. What in the world? 

Here is one snapshot of the crows in the tree

Quick – Merlin app to the rescue, what am I hearing? 

Rapid fire pulsating response from the wizard in fifteen brief seconds, highlighting over and over: Fish Crow and American Crow, with Tufted Titmouse, Song Sparrow, and American Robin sprinkled in, once or twice.  

What is the difference between a Fish Crow and an American Crow? I need to read up on this; all the crows look very much the same, from this distance. It seemed to me that one large tree held about a dozen wiggling, busy crows, and a neighboring tree held another dozen or so, with other crows flying about, darting between the two trees. All the birds were calling out harshly, creating a huge commotion. 

Were the American Crows in one tree and the Fish Crows in the other? Or were they all mixed up together? How do I tell them apart? Was this some sort of argument? Who offended whom? Or were they worried on behalf of someone else? Was someone’s nest being harmed and they were all there to support the injured party? Or ward off the interloper? 

We went back to our sandbox play, not knowing any answers. Then, perhaps ten minutes later, all the crowing stopped. It was peaceful again. The trees were emptied now. Where did the crows go? How did I miss their departure? 

Think of that adage – “nothing to crow about,” as in, being less than worthwhile. Hmm. I think this is rather condescending to crows. Today’s tumult was very unusual. I have no doubt that there was a real reason for their uproar. They were obviously seeking to be heard and understood, in fact, they were demanding to be.

Clearly, there WAS something to crow about. I just didn’t know what. How do I know it’s not meaningful? 

crow full

fish crow 
American crow 
fuss crow 
fume crow
this way 
that way 
a real crow’s nest
crow over 
crow about
swoop crow
loud crow
this is the way
crow flies
definitely something 

though I know 
not what
A little chalk art found in my neighborhood park.
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.

#SOL24-4 Children’s Time

Published on March 4, 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!

As soon the.children stream down the aisle in pursuit of the altar, I break into smiles. Each Sunday service includes a children’s time, where the children sit and talk with the pastor for a few minutes. They are invariably all over the place, full of energy and joy. The mood is conversational, with lots of back-and-forth between the pastor and the children. It takes a lot of skill, I think, to ‘herd cats’ in this way – to share an engaging spiritual reflection for the children to digest, while inviting their questions, and moving the lesson along efficiently. All the while, the pastor is balancing the children’s wiggles and moods and unexpected tangents. I am awed by his patience; he seems to truly enjoy the children, and never seems to mind their time together going a bit sideways. 

Today, I am still smiling from a simple misunderstanding by one young child, and can’t help thinking her confusion makes a good message all on its own. I wrote a poem to share the story:

Isaiah 61:1

on Sunday
a child
misheard
the reading
and asked
bewilderedly
insistently
understandably
perplexed
why but why why why
has the spirit of the Lord
annoyed me?

brilliant
forthright
out of the mouths of babes

are we
bringing good news to the poor?
the brokenhearted?
the prisoners?

perhaps
to be anointed
we need to be more
annoyed

truth to power
rise up

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.