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Tag: reflections

Now and Then

One of the most poetic aspects of autumn, I think, is how the concept of ‘past’ is on full display in nature. Just look at the trees! Here in Maryland, the beautiful fall colors are disappearing, rakes and leaf blowers are hard at work, and deciduous trees are becoming bare.

Transition. 

Thinking about forever gone, thinking about burrowing, wondering what comes next.

Both granddaughters have fall birthdays. Unbelievably, Frog has turned five years old. Bird will turn three years old later this week. 

How to slow time? 

Ah, this is impossible.

So we delight in what we have. 

Bird was here for a sleepover just last night, all by herself. We do this from time to time, when we are scheduled for two days in a row of babysitting. Truly, it saves both the grandparents and the parents a lot of hassle – no need to pack up and get children out the door early in the morning, no need to drive across the city to each other’s house twice in a day. 

What a treat it is to have this one-on-one time.

Time felt limitless. No deadlines, no pressure, no must-do’s. Making blueberry pancakes. Let’s draw together. Oh, how about paints and glue? Baking sheets filled with playdough cookies. There was a moment where I was a playscape for her babydolls. Another, where Bird, Poppa, and I had a meandering walk to the playground. We sat on a curb and held vigil at a neighbor’s yard, where a tree was being trimmed and a loud chipper shredder drew Bird’s focus. We went for a short walk after dinner, in the dark, to find the moon.

In the early morning, she lingered in her bedroom (right next to ours) to play and chat with herself – something that rarely ever happens at her own home, when there’s a big sister to follow and adore.

Grandchildren – an oasis of bliss in a sad and painful world.

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The Messy Mix

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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Unsettled

It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!
Expect the Unexpected

My friend shared how 
a week after her parent’s burial
they left the door unlocked and
this stranger
walked into their home
without knocking
an elderly woman
dressed in fleece despite the heat advisory
she walked in circles in their living room
passionately sharing a rambling story
a best friend 
a locked car
a game of hide and seek

My friend recognized her
as a neighbor from several blocks away
and they walked the confused soul 
back to her own home

I thought to myself - of course this happened, 
of course, of course, of course
It is the first days 
surrounding the death of a loved one
‘the season’ 

When my own father died 
three years ago
I experienced a heightened awareness of life
noticing a preponderance of 
unexpected sights and situations
The world opened in new ways
everything askew
fractures, all around 
mystery, awe, surprise, confusion, wonder

It’s as if you are living within
wild, unsettled lyrics of a Bob Dylan song
replete with unforeseen doorways, 
mirrors, silver canes, false eyelashes
you’re starin’ at butterflies
(the italicized are fragments of
Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts)

these are first days of a ‘newdeath’
a transcendent time
a way of being, much like first days of a ‘newborn’

this tender while 
when the world becomes very different

the thin veil of curtain 
of the great unknown
is pulled aside 

yes, you feel

beginning with 
the hush when you enter the home
the whispered voices and loving caresses
dear ones gathering 
bringing food and flowers
moving softly, with great care

tears flow as you live
this raw edgy beauty

witnessing great loss 

       you pause and sob at wet mangled treasures from a stray cat
a death shrine amongst the flowers 
and then again
at a young child’s scraped knee 
needing
to wipe away pain

       you see the hummingbird float across the yard 
sense its sweet tremor

       you feel familiar foreboding 
throughout your body
when a friend tells how her loved one
broken and disoriented by dementia
undressed in front of a grandchild

	you urgently call for help
when you turn the corner downtown
and find the stranger 
slumped over
passed out
knowing
we are all connected

       you follow the wisps of clouds across the blue moon
believing in more

       you lay in bed and hear again
each stroke of the fumbling shovel
knowing love pours from dirt not held

       and when you sit alone
you cradle a cup of hot tea 
and listen 

how soft the ordinary 
how all is fragile
how every moment in time
tingles
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Aura of August

It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

August.

Melting, wilting in a hot muggy daze. The evening approaches with wild, tempestuous storms, bringing precious but momentary relief to the air…and flickering lights. 

That old roof leak cannot be ignored anymore…let’s call for repairs.

August.

June and July were filled with travels; now the summer ends with quiet and slow. 

Here’s a month to “collect ourselves” – get a few chores done around the house, socialize with friends, cook at home (and enjoy lots of fresh vegetables and fruits), slip out in the early morning for a long walk . . . or linger in bed with a good book. 

I’m reading Daniel Nayeri’s Everything Sad is Untrue (a true story) – absolutely delightful writing.

August.

Two days a week, we babysit the granddaughters, which means lots of fun play: playgrounds, Dad’s and Uncles’ old Legos, arts and crafts, puzzles, dolls, playdough, books, and more.

We discovered that one missing puzzle piece leads to finding and playing with many other things.

August.

Hon, when did you buy apples? Did you buy them before or after the granddaughters visited? 

After. Why do you ask?

Well, there are these tiny little bites in the apples, in the fruit basket on the counter. I wanted to believe it was our toddler. Ugh. It is, as I fear – a nighttime visitor. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. 

Time to set a mousetrap.

August.

Black-eyed Susans and crepe myrtles are in bloom everywhere. The milkweed is hearty and strong this year. Lots of bunnies and deer to be seen on my walks. 

There are always surprises to find in nature.

August.

All the teachers in my life are heading back for professional development, with students coming back to school very soon thereafter.

Three years into retirement, it still feels strange not to be stressed in August.

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Acadia Travels

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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SOLSC #31 – Savoring

It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

It’s our last day of SOLSC – thirty-one days of writing in community. I feel as if I have been on one big adventure with new friends. A huge shout out to Stacey Shubitz and the amazing TWT Team for this wonderful month of sharing together! 

As this challenge ends, I find myself seeking a metaphor for daily writing and connecting with you. I wonder if this poem of mine, written a couple years ago, might work? In this poem, I tell about a walk with my two-year-old granddaughter, and her insistence on getting out of the stroller and running after a feather –

The Feather

feather, small and grey
lying in our walking path
once seen cannot be unseen
get out! you demand
so, the stroller’s belt I undo
together
we bend over
looking closely
only to have the wind
lift it 
into the air
sending it forward
beckoning
you and I in pursuit
laughing
following a feather

Thank you, SOLSC community for all the precious feathers – your precious stories – that drifted into my path this month. It has been so invigorating to write alongside you, to look closely, together. I am so glad I stopped to look and to savor your writing, and that you did the same for mine. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 

See you on Tuesdays, at Two Writing Teachers, everyone! 

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SOLSC #16 – Write As Is

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 had the best-laid plans for writing my SOL earlier today; there are several topics I am ‘flirting with.’ Ah, well.

 We were babysitting our two year old granddaughter “Bird,” and I had no doubt she would take a good nap. The time change had messed with her body a bit, plus she had a small cold; I knew I could write while she slept this afternoon.

(About that cold – in the midst of playing, she called out to me in horror – “oh no, there’s a droopy thing on my face!;” this may be my new nomenclature for a cold, “a droopy thing,” lol.)

I should know by now that plans will be thrown asunder when there are young children at the heart. 

We got a call from school when we were putting Bird down for her nap. Big sister “Frog” (who is four years old and attends all-day pre-K) didn’t eat anything at lunch and proceeded to fall asleep in her teacher’s chair. She was probably sick. We should come pick her up early from school. 

I can’t say we were terribly surprised; these two girls have been tossing germs back and forth this whole past school year. It’s been one virus after another, for all of us. Maybe they both have colds? Maybe they have spring allergies? Unclear, at present. Doesn’t really matter, because I was in the car, regardless, driving across town, picking up Frog from school. Poppa stayed home with the baby. 

It’s funny what a creature of habit I am; I love my granddaughter but I didn’t like this change in our routine. Early in the school year, I missed babysitting Frog so very much; now, so many months later, I am totally used to her absence for most of the day. When Bird is sleeping, Poppa usually naps as well. This means, I have this quiet house all to myself.  

Not today. My plans for quiet writing time were usurped. I was feeling a wee bit grumpy.

I gave myself a pep talk on the drive over: well, if Frog’s falling asleep at school, she’ll probably fall asleep here, too, yes?

Not. 

When we get back to the house, Poppa was just getting up from his nap. He fixed their favorite sandwich for both himself and Frog: peanut butter and banana, with a serving of fresh blueberries on the side. I sat back in my writing chair and smiled. Even if I don’t get to write today, this is heaven – to live near our grandkids and have this close relationship with them.  

A moment or two later, a blueberry rolls onto the floor, knocked accidentally by the sandwich in Frog’s hand. 

Poppa picks it up and hands it to her – “We believe in the five second rule,” he says with a smile.

“What’s the five second rule?” Frog asks.

For some unknown and regrettable reason, I decided to explain the five second rule to her:

"If something falls to the floor and 
you are able to grab it 
before five seconds pass, 
it is good enough to eat."

“What’s five seconds?”

"1….2 … 3 …. 4 …. 5"
She looks at me stricken - 
"Do I have to go nap now?"
The ominous countdown has sent fear through her four year old body; 
she is worrying that my counting 
has led to a nap.



(Wait, who is doing a countdown to send her to nap? Is this the teacher? Is this her parents? Hmm, this is an interesting insight.)
“No, hon, I was talking about 
the five seconds; 
it’s a slow count, like that...
1…2…3…4…5.”

“Okay, okay, count while I eat now.”

“What?”

“I’m eating my blueberries, and you count.”

“No, kiddo, the counting is when 
food falls onto the floor.”

 “I CAN’T EAT MY DINNER OFF THE FLOOR!”

“I’m not asking you to do this,” 
I laughed; 
“it’s just a way of saying 
if something falls down briefly, 
it’s probably still okay to eat.”

She looks at me impatiently, and confused. 

“Hon, your dinner wasn't on the floor. 
It’s just one blueberry that fell.”


She continues to give me a piercing look of incomprehension.

“Um, let’s just keep eating.”

Here’s the truth, it takes longer than five seconds to explain the five second rule. Something got lost in translation. Slipped through the cracks. Missed a beat.

But, hey, there’s my SOL for today!

SOLSC #14 – Circling

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 long forgotten what I accomplished that led to the prize – was it scoring high on a test? I clearly remember how awkward I felt. I was “the new girl” and an introvert, that horrid combination of trying desperately to fit in while seeking to avoid any and all unusual attention. Mr. M called out my name in the middle of math class, to come forward to the front of the room and handed me: a slide ruler. He proceeded to ask me what I loved about math and how I became so accomplished at it, to share my math background with the class. He might as well have asked me to undress in front of everyone. Please oh please oh please, can the floor open up and whisk me underground? 

I remember going pale and stammering, my emotions spiraling, and I said something simple such as “I like that there is always one clear answer.” I somehow found my way back to my seat, circumnavigating the room while holding this glaring tool, one that I never ever learned to use.  Just like that – in one unexpected whirl of a moment – this teacher had sealed my fate not only as the new girl, but as a nerd. In the 1970s, nerds were not as loved as they are now.

It’s strange to circle back in time to that memory…my own social ineptness and this inability to connect with any of my peers … all the strife at my own home, with my father’s new high-level job at the Navy yard and our hard transition to living on base in Navy housing after ten years in our own suburban home in Norfolk, Virginia…my mother was experiencing severe mental health issues…my brothers and I were ‘on our own’ to figure out this whole new world we were living in, so very different from all that we had known before.  

What irrationally pops into your head, making you stew and relive and wonder? Isn’t it strange how moments from the past jump out, and you find yourself rotating the memory in your mind, looking at it all around again, puzzling out different aspects? Or am I the only one who does this? 

I did succeed in making one friend that school year, one very, very dear friend. When I think about my closest friends, it’s as if I have one dear friend from all the different time periods of my life: 

my high school senior year bestie, 

my college bestie, 

my grad school bestie,

my first job bestie, 

my first child bestie, 

my parenting bestie,

my teaching bestie.

I continue to be very, very close to each of these women. They don’t know each other very well at all – though they’ve met on occasion. I wonder, sometimes, if it is strange that I am not comfortable, really, with a group of girlfriends. I am a solitary friend, a ‘one at a time’ friend. Still, they are my circle, my go to, my supports in life. 

What else am I spinning about today? 

I guess I have jumped around a bit in this slice, with no real pattern. 

Do slices have to revolve around one topic?

Well, then, let’s go full circle – 

Happy Pi Day!

SOLSC #12 – Anniversary

It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life." 
Thank you Two Writing Teachers for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!

Happy Anniversary, to Tony and me! We were married 35 years ago…which I understand is the ‘coral’ anniversary. It was appropriate that we were at a beach last week, I guess. 

We are actually apart for our ‘anniversary day’ this year. He is traveling to visit with family, while I am in Connecticut for a bridal shower (as I mentioned in yesterday’s post). 

The bridal shower cake – isn’t this exquisite?

There have been several years where we have had to be apart on our anniversary day, so we plan a celebration before or after the date. When the kids were young, and money was tighter, we didn’t always go out for our anniversary – but we had a ‘date night’ in, with the children ushered upstairs to bed as early as possible, followed by a special dinner for just the two of us.

Now that we are retired (my third year, his seventh year), we are awed by how much fun together we can weave into our life. We have so much flexibility to head out on a local hike or a walk in our favorite park, pretty much any day of the week. Thirty-five years in, we still enjoy being together very, very much. 

We have never been big gift-givers with each other, and the older we get, the less we seek having more stuff. We love time together and new experiences, a time apart from others, just the two of us. A couple years ago, we tried to write a list of what we did each year to celebrate – and we were so surprised by how many years we simply could not remember. What are our favorite places? The mountains, without a doubt. Hiking – yes, sheer joy. A room with a view of water or the ocean – ooh, that’s nice. A new city or town, to stroll around and investigate. It’s all good! 

Truth is, I love the touch of his hand with mine, as we fall to sleep – we can make that happen anywhere. 

I sent Tony this photo collage first thing this morning – every photo is less than one year old. We are truly blessed!

Happy Anniversary to us!

We Are From

Have you ever written an “I am From” poem? I was introduced to these at a teachers’ pre-service professional development many years ago. The facilitator had each staff member write a poem in this style, and then we shared our poems aloud with each other. These poems were an excellent way for colleagues to get to know one another, generating a great deal of reflection and conversation.

This past weekend, Tony and I went on a couples’ retreat with our marriage enrichment group. We facilitated a workshop – – which is really a bit funny, since we’d never been on a marriage enrichment retreat before. Anyhow, there we were.

We had complete flexibility on our topic, something that would get the couples interacting and ‘dialoguing’ with each other. As we mused about our session, I remembered this fun poem sharing from my teaching days. I decided to change it up a bit – 

What if we wrote “We Are From” poems? 

What if we had everyone think back to how their love relationship began – to go down memory lane? 

What if we helped everyone to ‘brush the dust off’ their marriage foundation, to go deep about what brought them together in the first place…and just hold onto this magic for a bit?

We handed out pens and pads of papers. Each person worked individually, writing down three to five brief answers in a list form to the following questions:

  • Place – where did you meet? spend time? what are characteristics of the place, location, neighborhood, room?
  • Who – was there anyone else there? who else was important or stands out from that time? were the two of you alone? 
  • Food – what did you eat? anything special? homecooked? restaurant? party? add some sensory details, here
  • Music or sounds – what did you hear? listen to? any special songs jump out at you?
  • Activities or games – what were you doing? What was going on?
  • Words – what do you remember being said? Any phrases come back? Funny expressions?
  • Smiles/Laughs – what made you feel joy back then? When you think back to your special connection with one another, what makes you smile?
  • BONUS – look over your list and add in any other joyful aspects that come to mind of this memory…special emphasis on smells, feels, tastes, sights, sounds

After everyone wrote a list of their own, we broke into couples, to discuss the memories privately.  The couples turned their chairs to look directly at each other, held each others’ hands, and slowly read their lists to each other, repeating the phrase – “we are from” at the beginning of each line. This was so sweet!! 

As a grand finale, couples were invited to create one “We Are From” poem together – and to share these with all of us. These stories/poems were absolutely beautiful to hear aloud. 

When we reflected on this exercise, many people noted how their partners offered new memories – remembering different things. Everyone agreed that it was really dear to remember the earliest moments of their love stories.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

This was our view from our hotel window, Kent Island, Maryland

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