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#SOL24-18 Alligator

Published on March 18, 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 use my arms as a long set of alligator teeth as Bird sails down the slide, and I pretend to bite her, singing

Alligator, Alligator
I want to be your friend
I want to be your friend
I want to be your friend, too
[one final chomp, with bravado]

This child’s jingle always leads to laughter, as they evade my chomping. I am not sure which early childhood “mentor” teacher (is such silliness “mentoring”?) offered this earworm to me.

I have long wondered why one would be friends with an alligator.

What a scandalous idea to teach children, right?

Wanting to show my granddaughters a photo of a real alligator, I searched for “alligator” in my vacation photos. Google only recognized a sculpture of an alligator from someone’s backyard, taken more than a year ago.

Yet, I had taken several photos of alligators on our trip this past week to the Lowcountry, South Carolina. Where did these photos go?

We came across several alligators. Bounteous alligators. Seriously, at least two dozen alligators, lazing about, as we meandered the island over the course of our week-long vacation. They are everywhere, these dark green mysterious dangerous beings. Everywhere you go, there are also warning signs, big bold letters about ALLIGATORS LIVE HERE and USE CAUTION. Here are the warnings:

- Assume every body of water contains an alligator
- Stay at least 60 feet (4 car lengths) away from alligators.
- Alligators are ambush predators and can move faster than you or your pets.
- Keep yourself, pets and children away from water’s edge.
- Swimming or wading is prohibited in Sea Pines’ waterways.
- Feeding or harassing alligators is dangerous and illegal.
- When fishing or crabbing do not throw used bait or fish parts into the water

I am a cautious person. I am often an obedient rule-follower. I am also curious, especially about nature. I do love to take photos when I am out and about. So I snuck a few photos, when we happened upon alligators. Obviously, very bad images from a scaredy-cat photographer, because Google didn’t even discern them as existing. Let me share them with you.

Here’s an alligator on our side of the bike path, as we turned the curve on our bikes:

Here, we saw several alligators lazing on the opposite side of a lagoon:

Here’s an alligator in the forest preserve (you can spot the warning sign, on the left):

My less-than-vivid photos show you that I was hasty, hesitant, and not hovering over alligators. The only way one can begin to discern an image is through editing the photo and zooming in. I think I will share the image of the alligator sculpture with my granddaughters, so that they might actually ‘see’ one.

Yes, I was unnerved by these sightings. One hears and reads horrid stories about alligators attacking people. Terrifying!

“They” say that alligators will eat anything. When their stomachs are cut open, after they die, there is evidence of trash and leaves and metal and bones and more.

Once, we heard a really loud splash as we studied a turtle at the forest preserve, and immediately wondered – wait, is there an alligator nearby? We hopped right back on our bikes, and bantered as we pedaled quickly away –

I heard their eyesight is limited.

I heard you can’t tell if they are asleep or looking right at you.

I heard they only run straight, so you should run or pedal away in a zigzag.

I heard you should simply run faster than the people you are with.

(This last advice from my witty brother.)

_______

Let me close with an alligator poem, my attempt at a playful Double Dactyl, inspired by Wendy Everard, in today’s Ethical ELA Open Write.

Alligate-Alliwait 
Missus McGoo on bike
Slowing down taking pic
While full of fright

Step too close, pause too long
Irrecoverably
Alligate for the win 
Not pretty sight

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#SOL24-17 Dream

Published on March 17, 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 dreamed about playing with words. I held a tiny toy rake – the size a Playmobile or Lego figure might hold – and I was pushing the rake across the page of my journal, which lay across my lap. I was seated cross-legged, Sukhasana, never an easy pose for me, except here, dreaming. I moved the tiny rake with great care,

gathering words into
       s 
       m
      all 
     piles
teasing out one word 
pushing the word
______along ___ a ____line_____
moving the word
d
o
w
n
into a new position 
+adding+other+words+
and moving the original word again
tenderly raking 

and all the while, my mind was a blank page

The clarity of this early morning dream surprised me, and it seems particularly ‘spot on’ for this point of the challenge.

It’s mid-March, when two seemingly contradictory things happen for me:

One, my energy for the daily work of this challenge begins to flail. I ‘feel’ the work of slicing – the writing, editing, and working with (sometimes exasperating) technology to post it for others to read. I struggle to make the essential time to read and comment on others’ writing, although this part of the challenge is inspiring and eye-opening, and I love the community we are building together.

Two, strangely and almost conversely, the world seems to open up for me in new ways. Here in mid-March, my writing “receptors” are alert to so many possible ideas for slices. I begin to trust that something special will present itself to me, every single day, asking to be written. I want to put pen to paper.

Yes, I am both weary and ambitious. That is mid-March, for me.

Do you experience this, as well?

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#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!

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

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#SOL24-15 Celebrate

Published on March 15, 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 had two fun ‘dinners out’ this week at the beach, celebrating special events, and both of these came with surprises.

First up was my brother’s birthday. We enjoyed delicious Italian food at Stellini’s, a restaurant that was pleasantly filled with locals rather than tourists. The special surprise: watching raccoons invade the bird feeder out in the back of the restaurant. There were half a dozen of these little friends, taking turns, going up and down the tree to get to this food. The waitress told us that they were now regularly feeding the raccoons, because everyone found it so entertaining to watch. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about feeding wildlife, but who says only humans should eat well? Here’s a photo (it was dark outside; I hope you can make out the image):

The second celebration of the week was Tony’s and my anniversary, 36 years of marriage. We were excited to try Ruan Thai restaurant, and the food was delicious. My sister-in-law called ahead to reserve a table for four, adding “we’re celebrating a wedding anniversary.” We walked in and discovered roses on our table, heart-shaped balloons on the booth, and a handwritten note, “Happy Anniversary! May your love continue to grow stronger every year.” How sweet is that? All four of us were taken aback by this joyful surprise. Here’s Tony and I, and the special decorations:

Two special celebrations, two fun surprises, TWO-RRIFIC!

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#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

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#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

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#SOL24-11 Beach

Published on March 11, 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 on vacation at the beach in South Carolina and it is absolutely beautiful here. I offer you a taste of this magical setting through photos and haiku (writing format inspiration from Barb Edler’s post yesterday – thank you, Barb!).

gift of this day
waking to wisps of seagrass
sheltering our earth

dear sweet gull soaring 
along the lapping ocean
under striated sky

spring glides on a bike 
with a wild giddy whoosh 
across shifting sands

pelicans in flight
holding the ocean
together

water draws the sun 
into its bounteous arms
kissing the day farewell

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#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.

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

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#SOL24-9 My Eyes

Published on March 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!

My eyes were irritated, and more so in my left one. I hoped it was a simple infection, another byproduct of time with grandchildren, but a glance in the mirror confirmed my fears: there was no redness and no visual difference between the two eyes.

This means it must be the mole.

Somehow, I missed all the marks of my anxiety’s favorite game – feeling unusual symptoms just before my annual eye doctor appointment.

Thirty years ago, my eye doctor discovered a mole behind my left eye, an internal mole, something that can’t be seen without a special camera. He assured me that it is probably nothing, yet he has to take a picture of it every year and compare its size and shape to that of the year before. It has not changed one iota in thirty years, except perhaps in its ability to make me fret. Aging is weird like that. My father had all sorts of problems with one eye and was basically blind in it by the end of his life, and this invisible-to-me mole feels like some parallel to his health issues. Regardless of the doctor’s reassurances.

At the eye doctor’s, I had my usual thorough exam. I read the vision chart. The doctor dilated my eyes and I waited alone in the dark with my active imagination. He returned and we sat knee to knee with my chin in the stirrup of the eye machine while he issued commands about staring straight, looking this way, no blinking. I moved to the second room and sat perfectly still at the eye camera and stared into a bright green star without blinking, over and over again, each eye.

Everything. Was. Absolutely. Normal.

No change in the size of the mole, no changes in my eyeglass prescription, even. All is fine. What a waste of time worry is! Though it did leave me with a poem:

my eye 

feels dusty
filmy 
off
there’s something 
pestering 
in the most benign way
as if 
somehow 
a spot of honey
slipped onto 
an eyelash or two
and each blink 
kisses
other eyelashes 
which struggle to separate
from the sticky caress

double vision? no
spots? no
blindness? not yet

I just feel odd

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