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Tag: personal narrative

On ‘ki’ and ‘kin’

Last Friday and Saturday, we had record-breaking cold, arctic chill. This was no fun at all. Then, this weather left us quickly and abruptly, leaving us with the shock of early spring: temperatures swinging up into the 50s. Early in the morning, writing at my window, I knew this was a day to be outside.

The day began 
with this glorious sunshine 
dappling, spotting, kissing
everything in sight
as if to say
Good morning!

Later in the day, my friend and I met for our regular ‘wun’ (walk/run). She had to collect sticks for an art project with her students, so this was truly a walk in the woods  I had recently listened (again!) to Robin Wall Kimmerer  [an OnBeing podcast from May 2022], who shared –

And there’s a beautiful word — “bimaadiziaki,” which one of my elders kindly shared with me. It means “a living being of the earth.” But could we be inspired by that little sound at the end of that word, the “ki,” and use “ki” as a pronoun, a respectful pronoun inspired by this language, as an alternative to “he,” “she,” or “it” so that when I’m tapping my maples in the springtime, I can say, “We’re going to go hang the bucket on ki. Ki is giving us maple syrup this springtime”? And so this, then, of course, acknowledges the being-ness of that tree, and we don’t reduce it — it — to an object. It feels so wrong to say that.

Robin Wall Kimmerer with Krista Tippett, The Intelligence of Plants, May 12, 2022

As my friend and I hiked along the creek, in the midst of bare trees of winter, surrounded by all this beautiful brown and gray, I felt embraced by other beings. I understood what Robin Wall Kimmerer was saying, how it feels wrong to use the label ‘it’ when speaking of a tree or a stream or a cloud above. 

Let me share a little more of Robin Wall Kimmerer’s wisdom, from the podcast –

And I have some reservations about using a word inspired from the Anishinaabe language, because I don’t in any way want to engage in cultural appropriation. But this word, this sound, “ki,” is, of course, also the word for “who” in Spanish and in French. It turns out that, of course, it’s an alternate pronunciation for “chi,” for life force, for life energy. I’m finding lots of examples that people are bringing to me, where this word also means “a living being of the Earth.”

The plural pronoun that I think is perhaps even more powerful is not one that we need to be inspired by another language, because we already have it in English, and that is the word “kin.”

Yes, “kin” is the plural of “ki,” so that when the geese fly overhead, we can say, Kin are flying south for the winter. Come back soon. So that every time we speak of the living world, we can embody our relatedness to them.

Robin Wall Kimmerer with Krista Tippett, The Intelligence of Plants, May 12, 2022

My friend and I decided to practice ‘ki’ and ‘kin’ on our walk. As we picked up sticks, we introduced the stick to each other – look, isn’t ki a beauty? We were surprised by the mental challenge of this seemingly simple change in language. What was unexpected for me was how easily I chose the masculine ‘he’ for the pronoun. I had to slow down and think through this, before I spoke, choosing not ‘it,’ not ‘he,’ but ‘ki.’ 

With this language of ‘ki’ and ‘kin’ at the front of our minds, I noticed that we both became quieter and more observant. We were absorbing the beautiful nature all around us, in that slower, meditative way, that is so good for the heart and soul. We were with kin.

Look at this remnant of a tree – ki appears to have split into wings, ready to fly away

It’s Tuesday and I’m grateful to be sharing with Two Writing Teachers

Always a Full Day

Helping hands – making muffins with Nana (check out how many barrettes she likes to wear, lol)
so much that needs doing 

from the moment 
she first wakes up 
and looks about the room 
she knows she knows she knows 
this will definitely be
a very full day
there’s just so much that needs doing
in this house

a bite or two of her breakfast 
and she is on the run
leave this here! she demands
no need to tidy behind her
there might be a free moment
to grab another bite 
there’s just so much that needs doing
in this house

she must have a to-do list
though it’s not written down
no sooner is one task completed 
she’s running to the next
never a moment to catch her breath
and she doesn’t miss a thing
there’s just so much that needs doing
in this house

walk the grounds, check things out
look closer at this and that
open cabinets, empty the shelves
wonder - do these fit inside?
wait, what is up there?
get the step stool, stretch and reach 
there’s just so much that needs doing
in this house

yes,
when you are two years old,
there’s just so much that needs doing
in this house

Cardinals Bring Hope

Do you stop and pause when you see a cardinal? I always do. I am immediately reminded of loved ones who have died.

What’s that expression – “when a cardinal appears, an angel is near”?

A friend sent me the above photo as we were talking on the phone, a scene from her back yard that very moment. She said there were many more cardinals on the ground, that aren’t in the photo. So many cardinals, all at once!

Later that same day, we received some crushing, devastating news about a family member. I think back on the beautiful sight of these cardinals, all together, and can’t help but wonder if they were almost an ‘early warning system,’ a foreshadowing…reminding of love and hope.

It led to this poem…

we got you

you know how 
if you are 
a ways apart 
from someone you adore
say, across a plaza, or
on the other side of the road,
you might take your hat off 
(if you have a hat) 
and tip it, jostle it, wave it in the air 
give a happy loving boisterous 
“hey hey!”  

this is what cardinals do 
offering
a bit of love 
from across the way
a kiss
an embrace 
a tender look 
through time

also
when they gather by the many
when you count 
five
six
seven
or more
when you see their
bold dotting 
bright red splashes 
adorning winter brown branches
this is 
hey,
we got you!

you are not alone
you are not forgotten

this means
pray, baby, pray
be listening
be alert
be assured

you are being held
by many

feel the power
of all

we got you
Today is Tuesday, and I’m writing with Slice of Life. Thank you Two Writing Teachers,
for creating this supportive community of teacher writers.

Alone together

“I want to have alone time with Nana and Poppa.”

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

‘Tis the season

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.

Playfully Hiding

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.

The Widow

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.

Night Sounds

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.

titters unknown

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.

Shadows, Light, Reflection

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.