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
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.
Often, I only discover what I’m feeling
when what I write tells it back to me.
- Pádraig Ó Tuama ( Poetry Unboundnewsletter)
I had a mini experience of this, just now.
It’s after 7pm here on the east coast and I am struggling to write a Tuesday slice for this week. I opened up my journal and re-read my early morning writing, in hopes of discovering something I might share. I feel bereft of ideas and short on time. Today, and the past several days, have been like one long run-on sentence, fun and full and in need of a good editor.
I found this little nugget from my morning journaling:
orchid blossoms fade
wispy worn angels falling
resting on the sill
You see, I had watered the houseplants, and, in so doing, I had the gift of watching a spent blossom quietly fall, this lovely slip, slide of a dance. Such a sweet little moment deserves a haiku, yes?
In the busyness of today, I had long since forgotten this surprisingly slow, languid moment. Surely, this is one of the greatest joys of my morning writing, however aimless it may feel at the time – to discover the forgotten.
I think I will let this be my slice for this week – simply so.
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.
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.
For the Spiritual Thursday prompt this month, Robert Hamera asks, ‘How then do we slow down?,’ especially in the midst of our challenging world and its rapid changes. How do we not get caught up in the franticness of what is going on around us? Check out his thoughtful reflections on this theme, and read the comments on his post for links to other writers and their responses.
—-
The very question “How then do we slow down?,” implies that we should slow down – and I totally agree. I have lived with myself long enough to know almost instantaneously when I am becoming too immersed, wound up, caught up in an overwhelming situation – and that everything I am doing is not helping to ‘solve’ whatever is wrong. How do I recognize this? I feel it in my body, recognizable in my inability to sit still, my pinball attention span, my reckless cravings for sugar and salt, and my general fatigue that is not nourished by a nap. Most painfully, I hear it in my voice, flagged by my short-tempered, rapid, sometimes sarcastic exchanges with loved ones. All these signs tell me that I have let larger, unsettled challenges take center stage inside me, at the expense of myself. I need to stop. Slow down. Breathe. Put aside whatever the BIG UGLY is, and take care of me. Give myself space.
What fills me with awe is that when I give myself space – permission to slow down, to not focus on the overwhelming but instead center on that which is right there in front of me – the challenges become less so. Always. I take myself out of the equation, and, in so doing, I fortify myself. Always.
I read this Bible passage, recently –
But do not ignore this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like one day. - 2 Peter 3:8 (NRSV)
I find this verse both formidable and calming. It is a paradox. To me, it says – live with the understanding that what we do will echo through time, live with the understanding that this time in which we live is not the center of everything or anything, live with the understanding that what we do today matters very much, live with the understanding that what we do matters not at all. Yes, and.
It is definitely helpful to spend time in quiet meditation after reading that!
As a retired teacher, I am able to heed the need for slowing down on a much more regular basis. It is amazing to have this time and space, to quiet myself enough to be more fully present. An introvert by nature, it is a joy to begin my day very slowly and quietly. The first moments of my day are spent in quiet contemplation, with journaling and readings, a mix of meditations, prayer, and poetry.
I try to slow down enough to write a poem from my journaled musings, to ‘catch my thoughts.’ Here is the poem I wrote this morning, as I studied a tree outside my window. I think it fits quite nicely with this theme of “slowing down.” (I wish I had taken a photograph of this tree in the morning light – perhaps I will tomorrow morning, and add it to this post.)
to be last
autumn turning to winter
bowing offering genuflecting
the ground is cold and brown
all the leafing trees are bare
except this one dear oak
who holds tight
unable to let go
the morning sun mingles and kisses
dazzling her leaves a bright amber
her branches yield to the rippling wind
and offer a friendly wave, as if to say
hello! good to see you!
this one dear oak is nestled
by three evergreens, who
she towers above yet leans into
resting on the conifers’ shoulders
conversing affectionately, whispering
you are who I want to be near
is she keeping her plumage to be
like her friends, the evergreens?
is she aware that others have moved on?
it is both pleasure and precious
to be last
secret lives of trees? not really
they are lived in the open
if we only we pause to see
She spoke up before we sat down
calling out from the pew behind
Hello, I’m Kathy Ann Smith.
I’m not sure she said Kathy Ann or Smith
or what exactly she said
I hadn’t taken notice, I only half heard
it was three all too ordinary names
Mary Karen Lynn Sue Beth Jones Turner Ross Ingram
well not Ingram
that’s mine
I would have heard that
I was caught off guard
nodded politely
not knowing her
sat down in the pew
set down my things
and wondered
if she was a visitor
and why was I so bad
at introductions and small talk
so much for my role in a welcoming church
She spoke again continued persisted
Do you know who I am?
I turned to her with an embarrassed smile
(I dared not say aloud,
no, I do not know who you are)
She stretched out her hand
I shook it and introduced myself
I took her in
petite and gray
somewhat older than me
I tried ever so quickly
to remember to assess to know
if I had met her before
She continued
I wonder if you know my husband, Bob?
Bob? I asked, confused, trying
to quickly process who that might be
another common name gone blank in my mind
Bob Smith, he died this past week
Pastor sent word to the congregation
The funeral is Thursday
oh how I blanched
horrified at my gaffe
I was so slow to put it all together
Bob was a long-time member
who had been ill for quite some time
we had just heard word of his passing
I babbled OhyesyesIknew
yourhusbandIamsosorrytohearof
hisdeathI’msosorryforyourloss
She continued assuredly
Well, he loved this church.
I didn’t really come here much.
It was his thing, on Sundays.
But I thought I’d come today, in his honor.
I miss him.
She reached into her purse and
took out a framed photo of him
turning it towards me
Isn’t he handsome here?
and so we sat talking
she sharing her grief
me listening
until the church service began
this experience
meeting her
this odd unexpected holy conversation
I’ve held onto it
imagine
a new widow
naming her loss
sharing her grief
its utter rawness
placing it into strangers’ hands
so that we might help her hold it
refreshing and innocent, I think
I am reminded of how
young children
know instinctively
that pain is shared
crying out for
every knee scrape
every collapse of a block tower
every broken cookie
When does the learning begin
to swallow
to lock it within
to keep it to oneself
to get over it
to bear it alone or quietly?
Typically
the grieving stand apart
shaken and sad and solemn
we whisper concernedly
make tender remarks
write cards
I am grateful
for her honesty her openness her clarity
Help. This hurts.
I am awed.
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.
listen
do you hear it
this light soft twinkle sprinkle wink of a sound
through the air?
tender happy titter
carried through the breeze
early morning rain
here on the porch
I am riveted
listening
is this birds in the distance?
sweet giggles of feathered friends
hiding in bush or tree
or perhaps it is simply
wisps of someone's music
many houses away
carried by the wind?
how beautiful this rain
falling
soaking
luring
carrying sweet melody
is it the tiny wind chimes
held within the redbud's bare branches?
autumn breeze setting music free
tickling rain
jiggling rain
waking rain
it is lovely to hear
listening
oh wait
what's this?
here in my pocket, my own pocket
right at my heart
oh my, it's my cellphone
reminding me
to slow down stop listen
oh how silly I am!
not bird not wind not others
but preset chimes
listen
hahaha
how I make myself laugh
I tend to be an anxious person, getting caught up in ‘worries’ or ‘must do’s’ that lie ahead. A few months ago, I set meditation reminders on my phone, to sound a pleasant chime a couple times a day. These chimes allow me to go quiet for a moment and pay attention to what is happening at that very moment in the world immediately around me: what do I hear, see, feel, smell, observe? This particular morning, I totally forgot about the preset sound on my phone, and became totally engrossed in the sounds I was hearing. I guess this means the meditation alarm really worked? Certainly, I slowed down and listened. So fun!
It's Tuesday and I'm participating in Slice of Life.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers,
for creating this supportive community of teacher writers.
I was in Saco, Maine this past weekend, enjoying a ‘second summer,’ with bright sunshine and temperatures in the 70s. Autumn brings very special light, instigating these incredible shadows and offering gorgeous water reflections. Here’s a slice through photos, sharing some of this extraordinary beauty. Such a gift of a visit!
whispers of trees
dwindling leaves
stretch their arms
in hope
towards the bright blue sky
soft lapping waves
kisses from the sun
footprints in the sand
problems forgotten
as we walk
shadow bracelets
adorn the trees
gathering together at the pond
dancing a welcome
to autumn
how to describe this photo
this painting
these nature lines
languishing
sweeping
caressing the shore
wiggles and squiggles
while a shorebird
reflects
full moon
nestled within branches
strives to appear
reflection fun
a pair of tweezers
a spot of bother
together playing,
playing together
farewell, sweet Saco
sparkles of sun
soft blue water
rocky edges
glistening shadowing holding
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.
This past week, I had the wonderful experience of hearing Ross Gay talk about his new book, Inciting Joy: Essays. Now, I am devouring the book itself, immersing myself in his inspirational thinking. This reading led me to a bit of joyful poetry writing…
Talking About Joy
according to Ross Gay
poet essayist thinker writer
joy is discovered through
entanglement
it is fundamentally intertwined with connection
belonging to
something other than yourself
something bigger than yourself
something where more than you is at the core
yet, he says
together
we will hurt one another
we will have sorrow
perhaps his point is
to open ourselves to others
means sorrow and joy
means messy
****
he reminds us to hold this truth:
people create beautiful robust lives
in the midst of
oppressive
intolerable
painful conditions
joy is in the seams
I love that: joy is in the seams
****
the next morning
after I heard his wisdom
we decided to go
the ‘regular’ way
thinking our early morning start
was before the construction
the painful development of our local ‘purple line’
(we were wrong)
our local street is now code for
one merciless intersection after another
block by block
road closure
single lane advance
one at a time
a horrible driving experience
there was
an anonymous apathetic impassive worker
holding a stop sign
WAIT
WAIT
WAIT
all traffic slowed in a long queue
then we saw
on the embankment to our left
seven construction workers
in their bright yellow vests
standing together
in a circle
yes, really truly honestly
I counted the workers
grouped in a circle
they each swayed and swirled their hips
laughing rocking moving
in unison
then they paused
and began alternate twist toe touches
all at the same time
as if rehearsed
choreographed exercise
to start the day
typically stern faces
nonexistent
I breathed in their delight
smiled deeply
feeling anew
I need to
pay more attention
to the beauty
of this world.
