Altered fun

Something that is bringing me a lot of light this winter is a new 'found' project.  Let me share what I am up to....

I have two old journal/day planners of my mother's that she never really used. She was not a journaler, and I am not sure how she happened to have these two, very nice quality/Italian made, with sewn binding. Mom died a few years back, so it's not like I can ask her. Perhaps they were "new year's resolution" purchases, something she thought she'd have a go at? These books are from 1992 and 1993, soon after Dad had retired from the Navy and they had moved near the beach, in South Carolina.

It took a little courage on my part to open them up and read through these. I was not surprised yet still disappointed to find that there were very few entries, and everything was quite superficial - "haircut at 10 am." The biggest confidences seemed to involve food, "We went out to eat and I had scallops for dinner." Truly, there were very few references to any family members, except for noting phone calls, as in "I called Maureen this evening."

Later, when I was out running trails with my pal Marla, I lamented aloud - "How I wish I found some sort of affirming words about me in her writing. I'm half-thinking of writing a love note to myself in the empty pages." (This was one of those 'give yourself what you need' ideas that a therapist might recommend.) Marla, an artist, immediately suggested - "Oh my - you should make an altered book!"

"A what?" I asked, confused.

When I got home from the run, I went on a deep dive (thank you, Google and YouTube) to discover everything I could about altered books...and this has become my 'found' project. This visual art/craft approach appears for some to be a way to create almost an artist's portfolio, or to experiment with different art techniques. I am taking mine in a more personal direction, using Mom's book/writings (or lack of writing) as a muse, creating art collages and drawings, basically 'playing' with the book. 

Let me show you a collage I have just started - this is going to be a map of their home and surrounding area, showing all Mom's favorite places. I have created the 'toe' of the island that they lived on and the water all around, using papers cut from picture book jackets. 

(I should ask you teachers - do you recognize the illustrators?). 

(Okay, okay - I'll share! The 'land' is from Jerry Pinkney's The Lion and The Mouse and the "water" is from Michaela Goede's illustrations in Carole Lindstrom's We Are Water Protectors)  

As I said, I'm mid-process on this collage - I have yet to add roads, bike paths, and favorite places. More to come!!

I am awed by how this work is stimulating other writing, leading to poetry and some fanciful fiction draft ideas. Honestly, the exploration is meditative and hopeful. I am having so so so much fun.

Let me share a little poem I wrote, totally imagining Mom living in her new community, immersed in her local Catholic church and new friends. I thought about her and a friend taking a day to visit the local shopping outlets, from her entry "Tru and I to the outlets": 

the perfect day

how the waitress made us chuckle

shouting our names, saying hello

she knows us now, each morning

early Mass, coffee and biscuits

then we drove to the outlets

searching for the perfect shoes

finding so many bargains

that turquoise blouse looked so good on you

how fun it was to wander into

the little art boutique

so many beautiful pottery pieces

people are so creative

we sat on the bench outside for a bit

remember how cool the air was

how gentle the breeze

such a nice break from the heat

driving back, you shared that story

your trip to the mountains

all the antics that ensued

how we laughed and laughed

I had no sooner put my new things away

when he came through the door

we sat on the porch together

sharing our stories

I seriously don't know where I am 'going' with this project, but it is the perfect thing for me as another winter of isolation bears down.

___________________

It's Tuesday and I am participating in the

 Slice of Life.  

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for creating this supportive community 

of teacher-writers!

#verselove - 12: Trees of silence

For the month of April, I am participating in 30 days of #verselove poetry writing with Dr. Sarah J. Donovan's Ethical ELA. 

Today's poetry inspiration was by Penny Kittle, who also provided a one-hour poetry webinar. She suggests using a phrase or a line from another poet and writing into this, seeing what surprising story comes up. She shared the poem Elementary by G. Yamazawa. This is a powerful poem and many lines reverberated for me; I wrote into his phrase "how deep the trembles are felt."

Trees of Silence

there’s a space between 
lightning and a clap of thunder
that is eerily silent
I’ve gotten used to this
though I still want to hide

it is more rare and ominous 
when lightning strikes a tree 
one hears an immediate wrenching crack 
wood split in two
followed by what feels like 
piercing
heavy 
overwhelming quiet 
before the massive tree topples to the ground 

everything reverberates
everyone sees 
everyone understands 

mystery solved

this is how your silence felt,
me the ground
waiting for
a felled tree
achingly
on top

I need to believe
you had no idea
how deep trembles are felt

you wielded a weapon of
cutting
unending
eviscerating silence
by not speaking to me
did you aim for my heart?

you left me 
twisting
terrified
tormented
what did I do?
why is Mommy mad?
how can I fix this
silence

I have learned 
not to grow
trees of silence

seeds you planted
I try to dig them out of the ground 
before they take root

a raw hurting silence
I just know
I just know
I just know
something is painfully wrong

Apr4Poetry - Mother and Daughter

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 poem writing prompt is to focus on a physical trait in my family...


Mother and Daughter


Come to think of it,
hair was a thing between us,
keeping us together,
pushing us apart.
"Oh, look at you two,
mother and daughter,
such beautiful hair,
thick, black, and wavy."
I heard this over and over.
In those early years,
she'd preen and primp us both,
I'd cry and protest and wriggle away,
I never cared about my hair, and
her eyes said 'shame on you.'

"It needs to be combed,
it needs to be untangled,
you can't go out looking like that."
I wanted the choice of a simple buzz cut,
like my brothers,
just let me be -
free to climb, run and hide,
work up a sweat.
Exasperated, she styled mine a 'pixie,'
making it conform.
I resented being told to be pretty.
Her eyes said "you don't get a say."

When I look at the family photo,
me, with that soft, perfect curl
in the center of my forehead,
I only see the hour I sat still
beforehand
so that she could create it, and
I see
her manicured hair, and
her sophisticated smile,
projecting
we are a model family.
Her eyes are distant.

By the time I was in high school,
she stayed longer in her bed,
weighed down by mental illness, and
neither I nor my hair was
clipped,
boxed in,
confined.
Mom tried to tame both me and my hair,
and then gave up.
I missed having her wash my hair at the sink,
I missed her playing with my hair,
I missed her eyes noticing me.

So many, many years have gone by,
my hair is now gray,
though thick and playful.
It refuses to grow past my shoulders,
I guess stubborn like me.
Once it hits the nape of my neck,
it decides to be a bush, growing bolder, wide, and wild,
as if still yelling 'let me be!'.
It submits to workweeks with gels and a brush,
but weekends and pandemics
are another thing entirely.
Sometimes my hair covers my eyes.

SOL20 Slice #1: Lenten rose

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  
All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 
 every day for the month of March 2020.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

March always makes me think of my Mom, whose birthday is this month. After her death in October 2018, I decided to look for a perennial that bloomed in March, to plant in my garden in her honor. This past fall, I planted three lenten roses ("Helleborus"), thinking these would be ideal flowers to commemorate my devout Catholic mother. 

Lo and behold, they began to emerge from the ground in mid-February, and here at the beginning of March, there are a few blossoms! I am confident that these plants will be covered with blooms by mid-month, for Mom's birthday on the 18th. I have been checking on them every day, noticing their growth and smiling with delight; I have fallen in love with these little dear plants. They are one of the first signs of spring in my yard, flowering even before the yellow-blossomed forsythia.

Such a little thing, such a sweet thing - I figured this called for a poem.




Little Lenten Rose

Slowly, slowly, through ground,

Though it be cold and hard,

The little lenten rose,

Sweet magic in my yard.

Slowly, slowly, pushing up,

Stem and leaves appear,

Small buds are softly folded

Holding something dear.

Slowly, slowly, they unfold,

Blossoms opening wide,

Purple, red, with yellow core,

Speckled and bright inside.

Slowly, slowly, winter fades,

Springtime starts to shine.

The little lenten rose,

Harbinger of time.

A patio set

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!

My Dad, 90 years old next week, was recently moved into a nursing home, due to complications from Parkinson's. My Mom died last October. This summer, we finished emptying my Dad and Mom's house, and then we drove a U-haul filled with treasured belongings from their house in Maine to my home in Maryland. This poem is about one of those treasures, a patio set, that now resides at my house.

A patio set,
wicker, soft, and blue,
a place for them to be,

a gift of love just a few years back,
to welcome them
to their new home in Maine.

A patio set,
wicker, soft, and blue,
easing them into

a small home with caregivers, after
the abrupt end of their life in the south, 

in a coastal paradise. 

A patio set,
wicker, soft, and blue,
meant to help them adjust
to less independence,

a place for them to be,
in hopes of helping them feel more at home,
to remind them of the beach and the sea.

A patio set,
wicker, soft, and blue,
we hoped they'd spend years
sitting, enjoying the birds and the trees,
surrounded by their
cherished photos,
familiar trinkets,
loving family.

Not to be, not to be.

A patio set,
wicker, soft, and blue,
is now my place to be.

Although not an an heirloom or antique,

instead, purchased for them

recently,

it is lush with meaning.

A patio set,
wicker, soft, and blue,
reminds in the midst of birds and trees,

of strong and fragile,

of living, breathing, loving,
of all that is possible and might not,
of how things change.

A patio set,
wicker, soft, and blue,
new to me, meant to be.

SOL19 Slice #18: Happy Birthday, Mom

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL19)
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, every day for the month of March 2019.

A big thank you to Two Writing Teachers for providing this unique opportunity
for teacher-writers to share and reflect.

Today is my mother's birthday; she died in October, and would have turned 90. First thing this morning, I read my "Daily Devotional" meditation and it was about INTERRUPTIONS. Donna Schaper, the author, begins...  

"There must be some kind of sacrament to interruptions...."

I thought,

hmm,

Mom's birthday is a bit of an interruption to my thought-processes today. What if I look for interruptions, pay attention to them, see if they reveal anything positive?

Here's what I noticed:

Although I was wearing my favorite turtleneck top this morning, I could not find the shirt I always wear over it; I took the time to look through my closet more closely and found a really pretty shirt that I had totally forgotten I had! It had simple blue flowers on it, same color as my turtleneck. Yay!

A "no walk" signal for what seemed like an eternity as I walked to school from the metro - I looked around and noticed beautiful yellow narcissus in bloom. Yay!

I filled up my tea cup with hot water from the staff room dispenser, only to have this hot water immediately disintegrate the tea bag, spilling tea leaves throughout my mug. Oh no! I had to run back into my classroom for a replacement tea bag, and back into the staff lounge to refill. What was the good of this interruption? Well, I ended up having nice conversations with two different colleagues! That wouldn't have happened, if the tea had been made correctly the first time.

Other tidbits:

- a child speaks up at morning gathering for the first time ever! Surprise!

- one colleague is late for a meeting and I got to sit quietly in her office for ten whole minutes. Awesome!

- my Fitbit reminded me to get moving in the middle of a staff meeting, and I just stood up and moved about, stretching my legs. Funniest part - I wasn't the only one who did this! 

- the meeting ended early enough for me to write this blogpost. Interruption = accomplishment, day 18 of SOLSC. Ha!

SOL19 - Slice #1 Here I go again, in a new way

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL19)
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, every day for the month of March 2019.

A big thank you to Two Writing Teachers for providing this unique opportunity
for teacher-writers to share and reflect.

Happy SOLSC!!

I have participated in Two Writing Teachers' fabulous Slice of Life Story Challenge for the past seven years, but this year feels very new for two reasons:

ONE:

I am using a different blog than I have used for SOLSC before.
Every other year I participated in SOLSC,
I used my blog about teaching preschool, and

I tried to focus on my classroom, my students, and my lessons.
A couple years ago, I created this new blog - "Writing Beside Me,"
to share my voice in new and different ways,
to write about other things besides teaching preschool,

and, honestly, 

I'm not really sure where I am headed, 

what I intend...

it's just an itch...

a writing itch,

an itch that I've had for several years, and
I've responded to in the most tentative, fragile of scratches.
There are not many posts associated with this blog!

Truly, at this point, I'm not even sure this IS a blog, I have written in it so rarely.

I wonder,
if I write 31 posts for this blog during this month of March,
will this blog become more real, defined, purposeful?

This is my hope, and
this is the blessing of SOLSC!

TWO:

I wonder,
if I throw myself into writing for SOLSC once again,
will I jumpstart myself out of the writing desert that I have been in?

You see, I haven't written a blogpost on either of my blogs since October 2018. 

I don't know why and I do know why. 

I feel as if I am bursting with words
and yet
stopped up,
with a writer's version of one of those giant rubber bathtub plugs jammed into my very being.

I don't know why and I do know why.

You see, my mother died in October.
In simple facts, this news is not surprising -
she was 89 years old and had suffered dementia for many years.
Yet, I continue to feel
off-kilter.

My lack of blog writing is definitely tied up in this.

I don't know why and I do know why.

Enter - SOLSC 2019!

Here goes - I'm writing!!
I'm speaking up!
I'm going to stick my neck out,
share a little of my soul,
take a risk,
dare to write.

This is my hope, and

this is the blessing of SOLSC!

Thanks, Two Writing Teachers for helping me with this new adventure.