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#SOL24-21 The Leak

Published on March 21, 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!

How to describe the sound? So quiet it overwhelms, and wakes you in the middle of the night. It is a strange kind of echo, the sound of water flowing, a ‘white noise,’ steady and resounding, and you will jump from bed to investigate. What is that?!

While we were away on vacation, our next door neighbors watched our home for us, collecting any stray packages from the doorstep and making sure that all was well while we traveled. We have great neighbors, and we do this for one another whenever one of us is out of town. We checked in with them a time or two by text, mostly to send a braggy photo or two of our fun travels. Then they texted back their dilemma:

They heard the sound of water running, yet no sign of water. They searched upstairs and downstairs, turned on and off faucets, double-checked the laundry area: no surprise water anywhere.

We texted back immediately, to double-check their words – Wait, your house or our house? Who has this problem?

Ours is the frightened response of people who have “been there, done that.” We knew exactly what the problem was: a pinhole leak in the water pipes to one’s home. You hear water running, flowing, gushing. You see nothing. It is eerie.

Good news for us, it is their home that is having the problem. Bad news for them, we were right: pinhole leaks. And, unfortunately, their leak is causing such a severe flow of water, the WSSC cut off the water supply to their home. I feel so badly that they are having this dreaded experience.

All the water pipes in our neighborhood are quite old. Most of the homes were built between 1935-1945, and the pipes are galvanized metal. These do not age well, rusting out and forming holes. Water gushes into the ground, invisible to the eye, only something one can hear. The pipes must be replaced, which is a labor intensive task requiring the digging of a deep trench. (Here’s a question – is it really an improvement that old galvanized pipes are replaced with some new thick polyvinyl? We all know the wonders of plastic in our water…but I digress.)

If the leak is in the part of the pipe between your yard and the street, where the main water lines are, that’s a county problem and they must pay for the repair. However, if the leak is in your yard…ugh….

If only one home hears the water flowing, chances are close to excellent that the leak is in that one yard.

Our education about pinhole leaks occurred right before my husband’s 50th birthday party, when we had tons of people coming to the house to celebrate. You could see the usage dial spinning on the water meter, yet there was no evidence of water leaking inside our home. Our water pressure deteriorated. We called WSSC with fingers crossed that this was a county issue, but that was not to be. The plumbers dug an enormous ditch through the front yard, in order to make the repair. The repair took several days, straddling the birthday party. On the bright side, we were able to keep our water on, in the house; I don’t know that we could have had a party without it. The yard, however, was a disaster. I remember the plumber put sawhorses around the cavernous trench, to keep children away, and I believe I added celebratory balloons to these, for a chuckle.

Our neighbors didn’t have the added hassle of a bunch of partygoers coming to the house, but they had the terrible timing of hosting a friend from Texas. Hosting company for several days and no running water? Oh my.

One cannot function without water.

We didn’t hesitate; we insisted they take over our home while we were away – use the kitchen, take showers, collect water, run laundry, whatever you need. It is now a whole week later, we are back home, their guest is gone, and their repair has still not been made. The plumber cannot work on the fix until the county issues a permit, and there has been a delay in acquiring this.

The neighbors are eating lots of takeout, filling big buckets with water from our hose to run their toilets, and keeping their spirits up as best they can; it is good that they don’t have young children underfoot, I think. We gave them a spare key to our basement, and insisted they come and go as they need. This area of our home was more or less ‘an apartment’ for our boys as they became young adults; there is a full bathroom down there, the laundry room, and a separate door to enter/exit. Our neighbors always send a text before coming over, though we insist there is no need for a heads up – our children never did this for us, lol!

In the early morning, one might notice someone ‘sneaking’ out of our home with a backpack of clothes over their shoulder, slipping across the driveway into their own back door.

I wonder if other neighbors are wagging their tongues at the sight?

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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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#SOL24-3 Suffering

Published on March 3, 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 have a kind of unease,
a prickly sensation,
a coldness in my bones
when I’m around a certain type 
of easy chatter
superficial back and forth 
embedded in a distancing 

a loved one doing their best to fake it
to cover up pain

I grew up reading 
the room
weighing the change in tone
hearing the false perkiness 
masking

exhaustion
giving up
hollow

A dear friend is ensnared with depression. I have watched it build in recent years. Who knows the root? A frightening diagnosis from a doctor, perhaps. Recovery that feels less than complete, perhaps. The loneliness and fear of the pandemic, perhaps. I don’t know, I can’t possibly know. Is it ever one thing sending us tumbling into this hard sad numbness?

We women of a certain age often speak about ‘not letting ourselves go,’ trying to age with strength. We mean this mostly in the physical sense and we share about our morning stretching routines, daily walks, or a new fun exercise class. Being with this dear person, all these daily routines feel so foolish and inadequate. Depression is a poison, permeating the body, turning routines into mush. There is no ability to engage, to have a project or a pastime, to enjoy a long walk. An eerie distancing from all and everything.

Every outreach I make feels useless, a band aid when someone is hemorrhaging. I feel myself losing her. She is hurting and I am struggling, too.

an unknown invisible misery
weaves within you
spreading mysteriously
in ways unforeseen 
leaving you so troubled
pulsating with fear and anxiety 
I do not understand
you so bold and beautiful
now sitting in sad eerie silence
bereft of oomph or desire
where have you gone, dear one?
how might I help you 
move forward in the dark?

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Life is Fleeting

Published on January 2, 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 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.

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Rekindled Joy

Published on November 21, 2023

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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The Messy Mix

Published on October 31, 2023

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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How Community Works

Published on August 8, 2023

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’ve been thinking wistfully about the preschool classroom, remembering how children learned to listen to one another.

Why is my mind on preschool?

My heart is heavy from an acrimonious meeting with adults. Those who spoke first essentially determined the agenda. The most emphatic discussion was about whether Robert’s Rules were being followed. People were silenced in the interest of rule-following. So much good community feeling was whittled away, as folks tripped over small procedural details. A few people spoke up over and over and over again; the quiet folks stayed mute; everyone was exhausted by the meeting’s end.

Dare I say, this was a church meeting?

Just ugly.

Now, our congregation is working on healing.

Add my voice to the chorus of voices who say that Robert’s Rules are not very equitable. (Here’s one, if you’re interested.)

Preschoolers learn ‘coming together’ means listening to varied perspectives. We need to participate with open minds…and extend grace to one another.

deciding together

preschool circle time
all of us together

teacher as mediator
traffic light
safety patrol
guide

alongside

tears laughter 
squeals shrieks
wiggles jumps
ups 
d
o
w
n
s 
nonstop 	unpredictable 	
movement

someone
can’t sit still
another squirrels away
there’s a twosome chatting
 rolling playing with each other
oh, and you!
so frustrated you weren’t called first
oops! someone needs to go to the bathroom
worst,
they already did

oh my
how am I to introduce
the ‘big idea’ of the day?

how will we
make decisions
together?

this is how the year begins 
this is the teaching

three year olds
learning how 

to be together

and always
at some imprecise point 
after circling up several times in a day
every single school day
this learning 
suddenly

falls 
into 
place

there is magic 
our community working together

(hopefully, the calendar says October, not June)
 
why do the children know
why do the children show
why do the children sow
community

better than adults?

they
greet one another
look at one another
give space to one another
take turns talking
wait their turn
moderate one’s voice 
listen to and consider ideas of others
build on a friend’s ideas
make decisions together 

they trust community

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Acadia Travels

Published on July 18, 2023

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’ve just returned from a wonderful family vacation in Acadia, Maine. I missed the ‘Slice of Life’ last week for the first time in months, due to spotty wifi and unending fun. How to describe the many sweet moments and gorgeous scenery? Let me share a few photos and tales.

We explored from sandy beaches to rocky cliffs. Throughout the park, there were wild blueberries on the rocky edges of paths. Most were still a bit green for picking, but we snacked on a ripe few. There were historic cairns as guides along the trails. We had lots of animal sightings – frogs, turtles, deer, crabs, sea urchins, and more. On our first walk, just as my son and I were passing by a marshy area, a barred owl took flight not ten feet from us – magnificent!

Deep in the woods, I stopped from time to time to listen to the delightful chatter of new-to-me birds (thank you, Merlin app, for helping me identify these precious sounds!) – red-eyed vireo, dark-eyed junco, black-capped chickadee, golden-crown kinglet, and a variety of warblers with adorable names – black-throated green warbler, yellow-rumped warbler, magnolia warbler. I heard these birds so frequently, I began to recognize their calls.

Early morning at Cadillac Mountain, our views were obscured by mist and fog. It was exquisite, all the same – and made for somewhat cooler hiking. We hiked along Dorr Mountain trail and enjoyed more visibility as the morning progressed.

Look closely, and you can see my granddaughter Frog standing on an outcropping. I remain awed by her prowess on the challenging rock scrambles of this and other hikes – she is only four and half years old, and moves with courage, flexibility, and desire. She was amazing! I, on the other hand, have returned home with new fitness goals for myself, in hopes of being stronger for next summer’s family hiking trip. I became so fatigued on this hike, I could only climb up higher on rocks by using my two hands to lift my leg up. Oh my!

Tony loved the hikes where you reach the summit and partake in these extraordinary panoramas. I was thrilled by these, too, but the Acadia tidal pools nourished my soul. We had planned our visits with low tide, allowing us to see the beautiful diversity of these fragile regions. The beaches filled with rounded rocks in brown, orange, red, yellow – these were absolutely exquisite.

I am filled with many special memories from this beautiful national park. Let me close with a poem I wrote yesterday, for Ethical ELA’s OpenWrite…a ‘venn diagram’ poem about the different parts of Acadia that Tony & I loved, and the overlap between the two.

Acadia

he treasured the vistas
panoramic views from mountaintops
sweaty exertion of climbing
weaving paths negotiating roots scrambling rocks  
our hiking chatter grunts laughter

tide pools mesmerized me
close intimate looking and tiny finds
slow steady careful stepping
so many lives both strong and fragile 
waves rippling rocks

invigorating
all our senses, tingling
immersed in precious wonder
being in nature
together

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Georgia On My Mind

Published on June 27, 2023

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’ve been in Georgia for the past week, for the annual reunion of my husband’s family. He is one of 13 children, with only four still living, and this leads to quite the crowd. There are spouses, children, grandchildren, and even a few great grandchildren for the oldest siblings. The reunion was on Saturday, but we made a week of it, visiting with different family members and friends for longer meet ups. It is a wonderful tradition to start our summer.

Driving back today, I looked through photos and reflected on conversations…it led to a bit of a poem. I need to work on this still, but here’s my slice of life…

Georgia On My Mind

the June reunion takes us back
over many miles and memories

a steady rain as we drive
seems to echo the mind’s machinations
whispering yet insisting,
saturating

all the cooking from the heart
butter peas, crowder peas, green beans
cornbread, mac-n-cheese
okra and dressing
(made just like Mimi always did)
pies, pound cake, chocolate delight
so many family favorites 
be sure to have a bite of everything

thirty-five years of showing up
has worn down 
the suspicion of me, 
the one raised ‘east coast, Catholic,’
yet it lingers askance
like framing on old weathered barns 

maybe I’m one of those little stone houses
staying put
strong and steady 

in their midst yet on the periphery
I love it here

dear ones open up to me
sharing confidences
the buttered biscuit on the side
taking all the juices in

now I’m remembering all the kudzu 
creating funny monsters against the Georgian blue
or is it simply keeping secrets
saying, no, not now, no light on this
keep quiet about that

let me think on this
maybe I’ll share more later

simply remember
the chortle of the littles
as they ran and laughed
together

family is precious

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Sentences Together

Published on June 6, 2023

*Hanging Sculpture with Beads* by Nick Cave – Tampa Airport

I know I am not the only one who reads a great book alongside a vacation, and the two end up a couple forever – when I think of the book, I remember the vacation; when I reflect on the trip, I remember my reading. I just returned from a very special weekend trip, and Louise Erdrich’s The Sentence will be forever infused with this trek. On the plane ride to and from, traveling by myself, I got lost in her magical and thought-provoking story.

My trip was a girls’ weekend, and a novel one at that. My cousin (Gem) and I traveled to Florida to visit our mothers’ last remaining sister – our dear aunt. Gem and I were close when we were teenagers; I have always adored her. We didn’t really keep close from our college years onward. Life is like that. No rhyme or reason, really. I’d say probably due to our physical distance – she lives in Massachusetts, and I am in Maryland.

Then we dreamed up this trip.

We had a very special travel companion, Gem’s twenty-year-old daughter (Vine). This was the first time that Vine had met a family member from this generation, since my cousin’s parents had both died before she was born. The three of us rented a car together in Tampa, and an airbnb in Ocala. My aunt and uncle are in their 80s, and we didn’t want to totally exhaust them by staying in their home. This was such a fun setup! It was very, very special to be with my aunt, hearing and sharing stories, looking through photographs, and piecing family history. Remembering and wondering, together. In the car and back at our rental, Gem, Vine, and I were able to talk talk talk and talk some more – getting to know one another more deeply.

Let me share a few photos from our walks. It is always a thrill to see different animals and nature.

In a fun coincidence, Louise Erdrich’s The Sentence has a mother-daughter relationship woven within the plot (which involves a ghost in a bookstore). I won’t give too much away – you should read the book. All weekend long, mothers and daughters and those who have passed were our themes, as well, with memories coming up over and over. No ghosts, though – thankfully.

Oh – another fun thread of the book is the word ‘sentence’ and its multiple meanings, with a special emphasis on writing beautiful sentences; there’s also witty writing about new words. I dog-eared so many pages of this book, trying to hold onto passages. I just returned home from the trip, and I am still processing all that my loved ones did and discussed – sentences keep popping up in my mind, special things we shared aloud with one another. How to hold onto all this?

Yes, it was emotional – in good, rich ways. So wonderful! Gem and I will not let so much time go by without getting together again. In fact, we have vowed to write letters to one another – to continue to build our close friendship (cousin-ship?).

A great weekend – with a great book, as well.

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