Apr30Poetry: Magic happens

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.







Today is, sadly, the very last day of this poetry challenge. I am able to write about anything I desire...and I am filled with gratitude for this experience. I am so thankful to Glenda Funk for letting me know about this writing challenge, and for Dr. Sarah Donovan for hosting this incredible writing experience. This was a beautiful way to shelter-in-place.

Magic Happens

Poetic inspiration,

waiting

each morning,

for me to discover.

An enchanted stone,

glistening,

in the morning light,

for me to hold and rub and ponder

throughout the day.

I let my mind absorb the mystery of the invite,

fascinated, curious, mesmerized,

followed by

space

to wonder.

That’s how magic happens.

April days floated by

alongside, inside, around, between, and about,

inspiration,

tapping something deep within,

stirring me,

nudging me,

stretching me

in new directions.

I have marveled at the journey,

nuggets and insight found,

surprising visits to time past,

traveling to the edge of places I still did not dare to go.

The charm of your comments

finding light and sparkle in my verse, 

hidden messages revealed,

illuminating my writing,

welcoming.

That's how magic happens.

The glow and beauty of your poems,

your openness and revelations,

how they captivated and soothed,

appearing like angels,  

letting me know you, as

loving, familiar spirits.

Your words

carried me to new worlds, 

gave me courage to wander there, too, and

provided a glorious shelter-in-place.

A wonderland of poetry shared by you,

this community of teacher writers,

connecting me to you, you to me

creating a lustrous weaving of 

written dreams. 

That’s how magic happens.

Today,

it is fitting that

there is nothing but grey skies

and so much rain,

tears from nature,
where I am.

I am in mourning

that this month has ended.

I’m on my own now.

Yet, I know,

that’s never really true.

Future mornings,

I will find again

magic stones you left behind,

to hold and rub and ponder.

I will treasure.

That’s how magic happens.

Apr29Poetry: Writing

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.







This month of poetry is drawing to a close. It has given me so much pleasure. Today's poetry idea is to share your writing process with the group - what steps do you take, to get ready to write?

Quiet.

Unless I have headphones, to make my own quiet.

I don’t need much else,

Except, of course, my notebook and a working pen.

Tea, is a plus, preferably green.

,

Particular, I am not, about where I write.

Lately I have been sitting on the cozy loveseat in the front room.

Even the dining room table works, there in the bright sun.

Also, I like to write in the spare bedroom upstairs.

Sometimes, weather permitting, I can write outside, on my porch.

Each of these places is great, and often I wander between them.

Quiet, please.

Apr28Poetry: Are You Sleeping?

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.







Today's poetry inspiration is from Susie Morice, who offered the challenge to think about 'epiphanies,' those 'morning-after moments' when you see things differently, when something shifts and you gain insight or new perspective.

I particularly welcomed this bonus information for writers:

Processing movement or shift from one stage to another always involves looking at two sides of a fulcrum...Think of it as 3 stages: 1) where we were, 2) the pivotal moment of shift, and 3) where we are now after the moment of change. That helps shape a Morning After poem. It also shapes novels. It shapes character development, before and after events/trauma. It shapes the mathematics of levers and torque to calculate fulcrum in physics. It shapes chemical reactions...you get the picture: this is a universal type of exercise.

Are You Sleeping?

Bug-eyed, wide-awake, 3:46 a.m.

I am thinking through our words

Again, and again, and again.

Why do I care so much?

Why do I wrestle like this?

Why do I feel so frustrated?

Why does it matter so much?

Why does it wake me up?

Bug-eyed, wide-awake, 3:46 a.m.

I am thinking through our words

Again, and again, and again.

If a child isn’t learning,

don’t we have to change

the way we look at it

the way we work at it

the way we are set up for it?

Bug-eyed, wide-awake, 3:46 a.m.

I am thinking through our words

Again, and again, and again.

We make plans.

We set goals.

We call meetings.

We offer prescribed supports.

We meet the letter of the law.

Bug-eyed, wide-awake, 3:46 a.m.

I am thinking through our words

Again, and again, and again. 

We want the system to work,

the child to fit within,

rather than

bending,

turning,

stretching

to meet the child.

Bug-eyed, wide-awake, 3:46 a.m.

I am thinking through our words

Again, and again, and again. 

I'm not sleeping.

Are you sleeping?

Apr27Poetry: Brothers

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.







Today's poetry inspiration is from Anna J. Small Roseboro, who challenges us to write an acrostic poem about our brothers - be they blood brothers or just 'brotherly.' I luck out - having four brothers, whom I adore, makes this a pretty easy poem-writing challenge today.

Brothers

Brothers, four, me in the middle

Relaxing, no, but lots of giggles

Only girl, I solved their quibbles

Trusted all, except for tickles

How we played in sun and drizzle

Every day, little by little

Real time learning to be civil

Still great rapport, true and simple.

Apr26Poetry: Reasons Why

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.







Today's inspiration is a spoken word poem, creating a list or a countdown to create a clear argument. This poetry style is called "Reasons Why and Responses To," a way to share passion and expertise. What a challenge this was! Silver lining of rainy Sundays during a pandemic: extra time to play with words. Here's what I created:

Reasons Why I Walk Along the Creek in the Rain

7. It clears your head, better than bed, those daily steps, they give you pep.

6. You know you have the clothes, jacket, boots, nothing exposed, there's no bad weather, only bad clothes, this debate is all that slows.

5. You'll have the path to yourself, absolutely no doubt, silence in the rain, silence reigns, everything's so quiet, you hear so deep, branches crack, a frog leaps, wings flutter, water washes over rocks, it's so quiet you hear nature talk, there's something to be said about solitude, something that fills your soul and your mind, too.

4. It's like taking a trip in your mind, going to another place and time, you're in a cloud forest and you are lost, no - Isles of Shoals or some other sweet spot, maybe Gene Kelly's with you, singing away the blues, it's a big game of make-believe, same old same old like you've never seen.

3. Transported by your feet, a series of visuals without repeat, colors like no other, in the softer light, pinks seem pinker, flowers so bright, redbuds at peak, peeking at you, dogwoods want in on the show, too, it's a school without walls, surprises await, endless possibilities to see something great, the surprise of the heron, in the creek, standing and staring, and you, standing and staring, too, everything glistening in the rain, everything different, nothing the same.

2. Think about writing 'reasons why and responses to,' write in your head, as you're walking, muse, what is it they say, what do they advise, "Good Lord willin' and the creek don't rise?" - there's got to be a way you can answer this prompt, these puddles at your feet, making you stomp.

1. Because you can, understand, because you can.

And, you did.

Apr25Poetry: The Dorm

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.







Today's poetry challenge is to think about "firsts," those experiences in life that stick with you. Write a poem with sensory words and details. I brainstormed a list of first experiences, and settled in on moving away from home.

The Dorm Room

The fluorescent light flickered

on and off,

wavering,

then settled on solid and bright,

revealing,

a room so small, there was

only one way 

to set up the three pieces of furniture,

a narrow twin bed, desk with a chair.

My sophomore year of college,

moving onto campus.

Unlike my brothers,

I had not been permitted,

to live away from home.

Mom said my desire to live by myself,

was the devil speaking,

I was inviting

sin,

sex,

selling my soul.

A miserable solitary year,

commuting by bus,

working extra shifts at the library,

saving every cent,

followed by a summer conversation with Dad.

“You will pay for college and not housing?”

Yes.

“I can count on this, you will pay for my tuition?”

Yes.

“Thank you, Dad. This is really a gift.

I appreciate it.”

You’re welcome.

“And - I have signed and paid for housing for next year.

I am going to live on campus. I am moving out.”

I remember

his look of surprise,

guffaw of admiration -

seeing my courage,

my swift maneuver.

I had beat the system.

It would be Thanksgiving,

some five months later,

before my mother spoke to me, and then

it was little more than

“Pass the salt shaker.”

I broke my mother’s heart,

I opened up my own.

The fluorescent light flickered

on and off,

wavering,

then settling on solid and bright,

revealing,

a room so small there was

only one way to set up the three pieces of furniture,

a narrow twin bed, desk with a chair.

I have never lived anywhere as sublime.

Apr24Poetry: Fun with Numbers

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.







Today's poetry inspiration is to work mathematics into your writing. We were challenged to write down important numbers and see what jumped out, what spoke to us. I had a little fun with this:

Our Math Story: Fun with Numbers

12 of 13 + 2

meets

3 of 5 + 2

and decide to

add

together.

Which means,

in 1988,

(12 of 13 + 2) + (3 of 5 + 2) = 1

I think

2 as 1

while

simultaneously

1 that respects 2

is the hardest math of all.

In time,

this 1,

these 2,

added 3,

making 5.

After 25 years go by,

the numbers

begin to go down

because

1 of 3 splits off

and adds 1

and another

1,

and

2 of 3 splits off,

and

3 of 3 splits off,

with

2 as 1

remaining.

2 wonder if/when

2 of 3 and 3 of 3

will dare to add 1,

but realize

it is 0 of 2’s business.

So, long story short,

we 2 are 1,

together.

Apr23Poetry: The Tree

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.







Today's poetry challenge is to write about the cycle of time, and to be inspired by the changes that are occurring in the natural world. I'm not quite sure what happened here, but I went dark....

The Tree

The gardener lingers at the tree,

Surprised by the scene

Bereft of blossoms, branches bare,

Hardly any leaves.

What is this gray green fungus eyed,

Growing up the side?

Every other spring, majestic blooms,

Now, will it survive?

Grief is like this, when it comes about,

Whether whisper or shout,

Approaching loss always hurts

Seeing life worn out.

Apr22Poetry: Age 15

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.







Today's poetry challenge is to write a letter to yourself about what you wish you knew at age 15, including 4-5 reflections.


Dear 15 year old self,

What is it with you and
Olivia Newton John?
You should know,
there's a whole lot more music to listen to than
Let Me Be There.
Trust me,
I have been there.
When you are 60 and
you are listening to your oldies,
you will be so grateful for
your college friends.

You should know,
there is more to eat for dinner than
meat and potatoes.
Wait until you try
channa masala, oh my!
Heaven on earth.

Also, you are not fat.
If you were,
weight management is not resolved by
drinking Tab and eating
eight wheat thins for lunch.
Make peace with your physique.
Experience the joy of
breaking a sweat
through dancing, running, walking, and more.
You are strong and able.

Yes,
dating with a little brother chaperone is a total pain, and
certainly indicative of your parents' lack of trust and
their limited perspective about women in general,
however,
this too shall pass.
When you get a taste of freedom
in just a few more years,
this will be nothing but a great story you tell.
Plus, when you have children,
you have a chance to "do over,"
to raise children who are allowed a voice and
who receive your trust.

Keep your head low,
keep your journal hidden, and
keep the faith!

Love,
your wiser self

Musings and rambles

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life.  
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, 
on Tuesdays.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

I cannot seem to land on any one topic for a blogpost today, so here are a few rambles related to this COVID-19 pandemic:

Dad

These are strange times indeed. Tomorrow, I will have my first ever video chat with my Dad, who is 90 years old. How will this even work? He has rather severe vision impairment, and he is nearly deaf. Nevertheless, I am so excited that this technology exists, and that there is the possibility of connecting with him in real time. I am so thankful that his nursing home has offered this option to us.

He has been in isolation for several weeks now, and he has stayed healthy and clear of the virus. There was one case of COVID-19 in the nursing home; this case was isolated immediately, and there have been no more cases in some three weeks. Our fingers are crossed that this will remain true, and that these dear residents will somehow miss this pandemic. Unfortunately, this means that we won't be able to visit inside the building with Dad for the foreseeable future. 

Flowers

This morning I went outside to water my new red geraniums in the big pot next to the side entrance of my house, only to find there were no more blooms. Every single bloom had been eaten by some renegade deer, sometime overnight. Unbelievable! Perhaps the deer read my post from last week, where I confessed to feeling guilty about this purchase during a pandemic? There's irony or karma there, or something.

The Classroom
We got word that there will be no returning to school for the rest of the school year; only virtual learning for the weeks ahead. We left school so abruptly back in mid-March, with the now-foolish assumption that this would be a break of one to two weeks. We just walked out that day. Did we seal the goldfish crackers and put them away in the plastic bin? What papers are in my cubby? What bulletin boards are up? How many overdue library books are on the book shelf? I find myself thinking about the paint that I left in the paint cups.

Children
So many fun moments with little ones these past few days. In our latest FaceTime chat, my granddaughter (17 months old) leafed the pages of a favorite board book, and called out the animal noises for each page - she's reading right? Truly a delight to watch her excitement with that book.

Then, there were the phone calls with my preschool students. One silver lining to this pandemic is the one-on-one conversations I am having, uninterrupted, with each of these treasures. I heard one passionate story after another - playing with dolls in the dollhouse, planting seeds and now the plant has three leaves, the finding of a beetle and its larvae in the woods (Dad's an entomologist!), building a cardboard house for a toy elephant, and the plot to the latest Ninjago (this was totally over my head). One preschooler insisted on reading me Peter's Chair by Ezra Jack Keats, knowing this was one of my favorite picture books - she turned every page and shared what she recalled, often using the exact words as written. She truly is showing early reading skills. I am impressed.

The Cardinals
We had a bit of a windstorm and some rain mid-day, and I looked out the window to see what was transpiring. There in the midst of my redbud tree were two beautiful cardinals, one male (bright red) and one female (lighter red), hanging on for dear life. They were on two separate sides of the tree, both sheltered within multitudinous small branches, as if weathering the impromptu storm with a makeshift lean-to. Both birds were puffed up nice and round, as if they had eaten too many cookies, too, though I suppose they were simply defending themselves against the cold breeze. I was fascinated by their ability to hop around on the branches, moving with the wind, making do. Just trying to make it through. When the gusting subsided, they flew away. I feel lucky to have seen that.

Apr21Poetry - Mama Miti

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.







Today's poetry challenge suggested both a topic - Earth Day - and a form: ovillejo. This poetry form was totally new to me. Here's the line-by-line template that Sarah Donovan shared with us:

Line 1: a rhyme in 8 syllables
Line 2: a rhyme in 3-4 syllables

Line 3: b rhyme in 8 syllables
Line 4: b rhyme in 3-4 syllables

Line 5: c rhyme in 8 syllables
Line 6: c rhyme in 3-4 syllables

Line 7: c rhyme in 8 syllables
Line 8: d rhyme in 8 syllables
Line 9: d rhyme in 8 syllables
Line 10: (Line 2) (Line 4) (Line 6)

Dr. Donovan also shared some picture book suggestions for Earth Day, as additional inspiration, and I was swept up by this one, Mama Miti written by Donna Jo Napoli and illustrated by Kadir Nelson:



Here's my poem:

Mama Miti, she planted trees

On her knees

Seedlings to stop the drought

She dared to shout

Peace, courage, and helping hands

Save our homeland

Protect the earth and understand

There's so much wisdom in small things

Provide children with roots and wings

On her knees, she dared to shout: Save our homeland!

Apr20Poetry - Anaphora

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.







Today's poetic inspiration is Richard Siken's poem "Detail of the Woods." Our challenge is to write a ten line poem, considering the following  -

"Try to describe the importance of this place or what is happening there from an inside perspective, without explicitly stating it. Include punctuation after each line. Try to limit each stanza to one or two lines. Feel free to use anaphora to create some repetition. Title the poem 'Detail of' your setting."

Detail of the Creek

In the quiet, there is only the gurgling water,
as it ripples over the rocks and around the bend, downstream.

You are a treasure.

Even mourning is a celebration,
raising a toast to the beauty of the world.

Words to page offers sweet peace,
sweet peace within walls.

This is a cracking open, a breaking apart, a widening of the void
between what we have always believed and what is real.

The gentle breeze moves me somewhere altogether new.

Apr19Poetry - Off to Church

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.







Today's poetic inspiration comes from Alison Berryhill, who challenges us to remember a vivid visual moment from childhood, and to create a poem that has vivid colors and sounds. I decided to focus on our weekly ritual of getting out the door for Sunday Mass.


Off to Church

Every door of the old green station wagon

is opened wide, to fool the hot sun. 

Dressed in his blue suit and white button-down,

tie hanging loosely around his neck, to knot later, 

he takes one last puff of his cigar, and

bellows, “Load ‘em up!”

Hearing his roar from inside,

the ritual haphazard scramble to the car ensues,

quick tapping of our black dress shoes,

swoosh of elbows, knees, and backsides,

adorned in freshly-ironed fabric,

squeezing, squirming into the seats.

I scooch over to the middle of the middle,

give one tiny yelp as bare skin hits hot pale vinyl, and

adjust my blue and green plaid skirt under the exposed leg.

Sonny and Ralph clamber in from the rear, 

careening over the bench,

one random foot bumps me in the head before 

they flop down, sandwiching me,

their white dress shirts flowing loose 

from the belted waists of their khakis.

Mark and David race out,  

right at their heels, 

laying claim to the favored

rear-facing back bench,

now with younger brothers' footprints, and

swing this heavy door closed, with a slam.

Mom walks calmly and assuredly from the house,

sidles and settles into the front passenger seat,

holding the skirt of her soft, blue dress, demurely.

Dad climbs into the driver's seat,

stamps out his cigar in the ash tray,

vrooms the engine.

It's Sunday, and we are off to church.

Apr18Poetry - Both Sides

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.







Today's challenge is such a hard one! Oh my. The inspiration was Joni Mitchell's song "Both Sides Now" - we were to pick three topics and look at these from two perspectives. I listened to Joni Mitchell's amazing song, and could not get it out of my head. She focuses on clouds, love, and life. Here is my poem...I focus on night, home, and family. Ugh!

Monsters and bogeyman,

Ghosts hiding in the walls,

They’re awake while you sleep,

Don’t disturb them at all.

You stay in your bed

Pull your covers up tight,

Beware of the dark

In the middle of the night.

But now I see so much in dark,

Dreams, ideas, prayers, and books

When I wake in the middle,

It’s time for another look.

No reason to fear this

Instead take paper and pen

Write what I am thinking

Go back to sleep again.

I think and wonder about the night

I probably should know more,

What of stars, moon, owls,

and bats, to name only four?

No clutter and polished wood,

Sheets tightly made on beds

Mom kneels in prayer, curtains drawn

Dad’s working in the shed.

Follow the rules, no protest,

Be sure to do all my chores,

Then find my shoes and jacket,

Leave the cold and head outdoors.

But then I made my own home,

Wanting another way,  

The one rule: no silent treatment

We’ve honored to this day.

Three boys, messy rooms,

We laughed, sometimes we cried

All feelings were welcome

Home was a place we tried.

I think and wonder about home,

the touch of theirs on mine,

What changes might we make,

If we went back in time?

One man and one woman,

Holy marriage is the way,

Children need this structure,

Everyone would say.

Sheltered life limits the view,

Seems to shape children’s minds,

But I don’t think there’s any stop

To curious, over time.

Whether books, study, or travel,

I began to question it,

So many families

That this shell didn’t fit.

Teaching showed me even more,

Each family is unique

Together has so many ways

There is no one technique.

Whatever I think and wonder

About families, is just guess.

Isn’t it an illusion

To think we know what’s best?

Apr17Poetry - Fortunes for Preschool

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.







Today's challenge is, for a second day, inspired by the poetry of Frank O'Hara; here, we are using his poem "Lines for the Fortune Cookies." I decided to write fortunes with a preschool lens - seventeen fortunes for the 17th of April.

Preschool Fortunes

1.    If you have cardboard, you have the world.

2.    An hour playing with blocks is a minute, a minute in tantrum is an hour.

3.    Small hops can take you far, unless you are in a box.

4.    One who floats teacups in the toilet shows great imagination.

5.    To eat with fork is divine, to eat while holding fork in toes is sublime.

6.    Routines are made to be broken.

7.    To use the bathroom, the only time better than now is five minutes ago.

8.    It is always a good time to take one’s shoes off.

9.    If someone has what you want, grab it and run.

10.  That puddle on the far side of the road wants you to jump in and stomp.

11.  You have been told that before.

12.  To be curious is to have the bead up your nose.

13.  Monsters cannot talk but they are everywhere.

14.  If you are wearing your finest, it is time to paint.

15.  There is a time to talk and a time to be quiet; you will talk at all times.

16.  To wipe the spill from a small cup of water requires 1000 paper towels.

17.  If at first you don’t succeed, ask again, ask again, ask again.

Apr16Poetry - Coke

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.







Today's challenge is to write a poem in the style of Frank O'Hara's Having a Coke with You. My goodness, the prompt was custom-made for writing about my husband and his daily Coke!


Having a Coke with you,
is even more insightful than your words,
the way you always,
whether in Italy,
Costa Rica,
a family vacation,
a day trip for hiking,
in our kitchen,
it makes no difference,
you always,
every single day,
indulge,
such ritual,
the way you
lay a napkin on the table
place the glass squarely on the napkin,
fill the glass with ice,
there must, must, must be ice,
then,
slowly,
pour,
just to the edge of the top of the ice,
leaving some deliciousness
still in the bottle,
sip,
savor,
then tell me that
these are your Georgia roots,
Coke is a Georgia thing,
there's only Coke
there is no other,
then,
of course,
you refill the glass
before the ice melts,
until the bottle is empty,
kindly wipe down the table
with the damp napkin,
tend to the glass,
one satisfies.
You are
thoughtful,
committed,
caring, and
full of love and
good cheer.
Must be the Coke,
which is why I'm telling you about it.

Apr15Poetry - Children

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.








Today's poetry inspiration is by Margaret Simon, who challenges us to create an acrostic with analogies.


Children

Cherish is to children,

Hope is to dreams,

Imagine is to journeys,

Light is to sunrise,

Dare is to mountains,

Roads are to guardrails,

Explore is to wilderness,

Nurture is to next.

Spring break

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life.  
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, 
on Tuesdays.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

It's my spring break week, one that was going to be spent at my sister-in-law's, in Florida, at the beach. I was imagining looking for sea glass on early morning walks, feeling the sand and those itsy bitsy shells between my toes, watching for dolphins, and enjoying the warm sun. I was looking forward to fresh grouper sandwiches and maybe some Cuban-style black beans. 

Ah, well.

It's my spring break week, during the COVID-19 pandemic. I've been sleeping, reading, eating, gardening, walking, as I please. All those movies that we saved up on the DVR, well - now's their time. This is a blessing, right? We are healthy, we are together, we are making our own fun, just the two of us. I have one whole week where I do not have to think or worry about virtual teaching.

I'm so aware that my daily problems with this pandemic are, to date, almost entirely irritations, inconveniences. Making masks, wearing masks, waiting to get into a grocery store by first lining up at safe distance, keeping distance from others on the walking path, only being able to see my children and granddaughter through FaceTime, having to learn new technology in order to teach virtually; all are such "first-world problems." They sound - they are! - like one enormous whine.

We have our health. We have a home. We have income. We are blessed.

We went to the Home Depot this morning to get some tomato plants for our vegetable garden, and some flowers for the yard. We picked up some plants for our neighbor, as well, to consolidate the trips, to minimize all our travel.

This trek - is it really essential? 

How does one define essential? 

Why do I feel guilty about this simple pleasure?

There was a long line of immigrant workers, hoping for day work. They always line up at this store. I know this. Yet, usually - back in the time when things were normal - they've all been hired first thing in the morning. It was mid-day when we arrived at the store, and there was a very long queue, everyone spaced six feet apart, the workers are all wearing masks, waiting. Waiting for work that probably doesn't exist, in this pandemic. 

My heart hurts.

The movement through the store was slow, staggered. Employees in bright orange vests had us line up apart from one another, and wait to enter the store until after others had exited. Maryland now expects everyone to wear a mask in stores - and, yes, there we all were, wearing masks. We all moved cautiously through the store, meeting one another's eyes above the masks, halting in place and allowing the other to pass, when needed. It was quiet. It was orderly. It was sad.

My heart hurts.

Use wipes on the handle of the cart. Wipe yourself down when you are back in your car. Throw your mask and clothes in the washer when you get home. Wash hands, wash your face.

Yes, I guess today's slice is just a whine, a ramble, a writing of this snapshot in time.

My heart hurts.