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It is March 2022 and time for the
Every single day, for all thirty-one days of March,
writers will share stories.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for creating this supportive community
of teacher-writers!
Most days, I begin quietly, contemplatively. I read, re-read, listen to, absorb a variety of meditative, loving, inspirational sources. It's somewhat aimless, unstructured, this quiet alone time. I take a lot of notes. I write write write in a daily journal. I write into the day. I love this time alone. It is sacred time.
Today begins with my finding these notes on an index card, kept at my writing table, from an interview I listened to ages ago... words from Devendra Banhart -
I have no faith -
zero, zilch, nada -
in today being a good day.
But I can try to do good today.
(I jotted them down quickly, they are perhaps an incomplete quote, but you get the idea.)
I love this.
Seriously, I do.
Just what I needed to absorb today.
I am grieving, we are grieving; raw from the death of our sister/sister-in-law just two weeks ago, the sad surprise of her death, all the emotions, history, memories it has dredged up... battered from the daily painful news of the war and atrocities in Ukraine; I could go on and on; yes, I'm just/we're just hurting, hurting, hurting.
I have no faith -
zero, zilch, nada -
in today being a good day.
But I can try to do good today.
I went out on a long walk by myself, trying to lose myself in my head, pound and ground my body to churn away all the yuck inside...yes, if I can't seem to solve it through writing, I'll often try to walk it off.
There was this little guy, maybe eight years old, struggling with his bicycle - walking it on the side of the road. He wasn't someone I knew, he was a stranger to me, just a young boy. He was at that 'thickening' stage of child development, before height and hormones come racing in. I was immediately heartened to see him, just to feast my eyes on his roundness, thinking about my three sons when they were younger, how they grew just like this. Yes, I'm a weirdo. Hahaha. Anyhow, I called out to him -
Do you need help?
And he shook his head, no. At once, I could see the mixed-bag fear of 'I don't know you, lady, I'm not supposed to talk to strangers,' maybe even - 'hey, neither of us is wearing a mask, I need to keep away from you.' But his sweaty, frustrated face, the struggle and exhaustion in his eyes, made me think otherwise - he did need help. He couldn't get the bike going. I crossed the street to his side, keeping a distance, and said gently,
Looks like that could be the chain. I've had that happen a time or two. May I give you a hand? and I pointed towards the bike.
He whispered, okay and rolled/scooched the bike towards me.
One knee in the dirt, next to the bike, I held the bike up with one hand, and took stock - yep, there's the drooping chain, slipped off. With my other hand, I grabbed it, pulled it, tucked it back into position onto the sprocket, instantaneously feeling the mucky slime of grease on my fingers (such a distant yet familiar feeling is bike grease). I rolled the bike back towards the boy, and wiped my greasy hands in the grass.
Give that a go. I think that's all it needed.
He jumped back on the bike and rode off, with an enthusiastic - Yes! It works! and an even bigger shout "THANK YOU!"
Leaving me smiling.
I have no faith -
zero, zilch, nada -
in today being a good day.
But I can try to do good today.
