SOLSC 2022 #12 - This day is ours

 

It is March 2022 and time for the

 15th Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge  

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!

(I offer a simple haiku for today's post, while Tony & I celebrate our 34th wedding anniversary.)

Anniversary

today we celebrate love

holding each other

SOLSC 2022 #10 - that moment

 

It is March 2022 and time for the

 15th Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge  

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!

that moment
do you know it?

when you find
little wispy worms of tissue
floating in the air and

stuck to all the newly washed and dried clothing

as you unload the clothes dryer
and instantaneously the feeling burns within

as you realize

your dearest 

has forgotten to empty out his pockets 

before putting his dirty clothes 

in the hamper

that moment
do you know it?

when you unwittingly wash and dry
Kleenex
and learn for the thousandth time 

how these tissues have a unique ability 
to fragment twist stick plaster regenerate
adhering to every single piece of clean clothing
screaming 

catch me if you can!
haha you missed me!
no you are not done yet, here I am hiding again! 
so very frustrating

that moment
do you know it?

your nice shirt
that soft sweater
the black yoga pants  

this won't do! 

to be dotted with these blots of worn out white gunk! 
ugh
one tiny slip up

one moment of forgetfulness

one moment of rushing
and thank you very much 
your workload has been doubled

that moment
do you know it?

when slowly slowly slowly
you make your way through 

the load of clean and dry clothes
everything is 

finally 

neatly stacked and folded 
and you take a moment to glare 

at the culprit jeans
the one article of clothing with pockets
knowing this is where that dang tissue was hiding

stuffed and forgotten

only to wreak havoc on the rest

that moment
do you know it?

when you realize

the mistake is your own

those pocketed pants belong to you

yes, that moment

do you know it?

and you are so thankful
all your seething 

about clean frayed tissue pieces 

has been done quietly and out of sight
of your dearest
you haven't said a single complaint out loud
truly, no muttering or 

angry words 

that moment
do you know it?

when you are left wondering
do you owe your dearest 

an apology? 

The Sleepover

I'm participating in a 5-day "Open Write" on Sarah Donovan's Ethical ELA.  

Today,  Kimberly Johnson introduced us to Jason Reynolds who shares about a death in his verse, The Way I Felt...we were encouraged to write one, as well. Jason Reynolds' poem was so powerful, I simply could not go deep. I decided to go light and happy.


The Sleepover


The way I felt
when you invited me
to a sleepover
was
     lighter,
     lifted by
     laughter.

You are four years old,
irrepressible, and
imaginative,
including me,
your teacher.

How did you say it?
"When this 'kona-viwus' is gone,
I want you to come to
my sleepover.
We'll play hide-and-seek, and
Guess Who? and
eat fruit snacks.
I miss you."

Yes,
in this time of isolation,
I felt
     lighter,
     lifted,
     loved.

Apr2Poetry - Judgment or Love

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 writing idea is to create a "Blitz poem," 50 lines long, short phrases, no punctuation, and precise repetition of certain words at certain times...I found this writing to be an invigorating mix of "planning" and "whimsy." Here's my poem:


Judgment or Love

Love one another
Love without judgment
Judgment is poison
Judgment is walls
Walls only stop
Walls do not grow
Grow kindness and hope
Grow seeds of caring
Caring soothes us
Caring connects people
People are all so different
People make mistakes
Mistakes are human
Mistakes are opportunities
Opportunities to learn
Opportunities to try again
Again means hope
Again means persistence
Persistence is learning
Persistence is essential
Essential to thinking
Essential to change
Change for the better
Change for the world
World that loves
World that includes
Includes the fringe
Includes the unseen
Unseen but hurting
Unseen needs voice
Voice that is heard
Voice that enlightens
Enlightens our minds
Enlightens our hearts
Hearts that grow more inclusive
Hearts that embrace the other
Other perspectives are needed
Other opinions count
Count on each other
Count on together
Together is complicated
Together is slow
Slow is meaningful
Slow is needed
Needed for hope
Needed for love
Love soothes all
Love each other
Other
All

SOL20 Slice #15: Gifts of song

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!

We found out the day before, the memorial service inside the church was cancelled. The repast to follow, also inside, was cancelled. There would be only a brief service in the cemetery, at the gravesite. The widower, although only in his 60s, has a serious chronic medical condition, making him vulnerable to coronavirus; it simply wasn't wise to go on with the traditional service. At some unknown later date, we will all be back to normal, and we will celebrate her again.

There we all were, maybe 50 of us?, gathered underneath a popup canopy at the top of a hill in the cemetery, on a very chilly afternoon. The service was perfunctory. The chaplain's voice was monotone, dull, artificial; he was going through the motions, following a scripted ritual; it was clear - he didn't know her. Everyone was pretty quiet, lost in their own thoughts. As a result of the thin fabric of my dressy clothing, the shade of the canopy, and the all-consuming sadness that permeated the air, I was shivering...I simply could not get warm. I worried about my husband, seated right at my side; he's only a very few days into recovery from surgery. We were determined to be here, we needed to support our dear friend; our immediate complaints were minor compared to the pain she had dealt with all her life, living with sickle cell anemia. She lived 68 years...that is a beautiful thing. No, not long enough, yet she never imagined a long life. There is that. 

I remember her exclaiming, 

"I never thought I'd see 40! Praise God!" 

"I never thought I'd see 50! Praise God!" 

"I never thought I'd see 60! Praise God!"

The chaplain concluded his prayers and invited people to say a few words about her. There was silence all around. No one moved for a few moments. Then, the 30-something year old son of another good friend stood up in front of us, hands over his eyes, trying to shield tears, and he choked out how she had always been so kind to him. He was so visibly sad, a woman moved from her seat and handed him a tissue. Someone called out, patiently, comfortingly, "take your time, it's okay."  He continued, sharing that he had known her all his life; she was friends with his parents since before he was born...he would see her at his parents' parties, and she was always patient and loving, always asking after him, interested in him. With regained composure, he said, "I want to offer a song." Then, he let out the most beautiful a capella rendition of Deep River, his deep baritone voice bursting out of his fragile being. What a gift, that song! 

I think this is what is meant by a moment of grace.

So beautiful. 

And grace wasn't over.

One woman let out the most heartfelt sob, at the conclusion of his song. Others, clapped. I heard an "Oh, my!" 

Followed by a moment of silence, as if people were processing the miracle that had just occurred.

Then, a Ghanian woman - the older sister of our deceased friend - began to sing, in her native language. I have no idea what was being sung, but it began quietly, like a whisper, and then rose in volume and beauty, and other women joined in with her, harmonizing. This radiant song filled the air for many minutes, another extraordinary gift of song, from the heart.

Through song, the service shifted from something ordinary and formulaic, to a very personal remembrance of this loving woman, this woman we loved.

What a blessing to have been present for this.

What a blessing to have known my friend.

Such love for me

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!

The photograph of Mom fell off the piano.

Yes, it really did. Without any obvious provocation or antecedent. No one bumped it. No one stomped through the room. Nothing fell over and knocked into it. It was a quiet, early morning, and Tony and I were moving peacefully and ordinarily through our get-ready-for-the-day routine, when we heard it crash to the floor.

What was that?! I asked, and scurried into the living room, tracking the sound, only to find the picture of my Mom on the floor.

Turns out, that same early morning, my Aunt Louise died. My Mom's best friend.

Coincidence?

My friend Sarah says - when you think coincidence, think God.

I am so thankful for this dear woman. I am so thankful for my Aunt Louise. What an amazing woman. She was my Mom's very best friend, since they were young girls. When I was born, she became my godmother and we called her "Aunt." She showered me with love and affection all my life.  

She wrote me a letter every birthday. EVERY BIRTHDAY! I am not exaggerating. I was well into adulthood before I realized what a treasure this was, and I began saving these. How I wish I had kept every single one. 

Over the years, we became regular correspondents. I always looked forward to her letters, pouring myself a cup of tea and sitting down to savor her words. 

When Aunt Louise's daughter went through her mother's writing desk, one last time, after her death, she found an envelope marked "Maureen," filled with photos of me and my family, and my own mother's obituary. Who would've believed that anyone would be so organized, as to have photos and mementos ready to be handed out at their death? 

Who would've doubted that Aunt Louise would be?

In the days since her death, I have tried to slow down and reflect. My dear Aunt Louise is gone, less than one year after my mother, and I am all alone, truly alone, to mother myself.

I must try again today, and every day, to be loving of me.

SOL19 Slice #26 So, I love

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.

I woke up deep in thought about my Mom, with a profound sense that she was near. This poem practically wrote itself, as I reflected about her and listened to my thoughts.

So, I Love

Always, always, always,

love your mother.

So, I love.

I loved her instinctively, 

without much return.

She was my carrot, 

dangling on a string,

drawing me, contorting me, making me,

always distant.

So, I love.

Mother and daughter,

everyone insists on the bond. 

Especially, one daughter in a pack of boys.

It was years before I understood

the cold and the scold.

I know now,

she would have loved me deeply, 

if not for being mentally ill.

So, I love.

Mother and daughter,

there we were, 

a snapshot of togetherness,

yet, not so.

So, I love.

Sharing the news of her death has been

a re-learning

about mother's love.

One friend holds me, embraces me, says

"This will shake you to your core."

Another -

"Oh, I feel such a hole still."

A third, simply grasps and squeezes both my hands, 

eyes filled with tears, 

as she remembers the enormous pain of her own mother's death.

So, I love.

I learn a lot about people's childhoods,

when I convey this news.

I see what could have been.

This knowledge 

is a new raw,

a sudden exposure,

a blister of insight,

painful insight.

So, I love.

Always, always, always,

love your mother.

What if she isn't able to give love back?

I know now,

she loved me deeply. 

So, I love.

SOL19 Slice #17: Not too long ago

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.

I drop by to see him one last time, before leaving for the airport. He's sound asleep, snuggled in a nursing-home-issued blanket, mouth agape, his right hand folded gently under his chin, as if he is lost in thought, deep thought. I really haven't had very much "good" interaction with Dad on this trip. I spent most of the day with him yesterday, and he said only a word or two. It's as if he is here with us physically, only.

I want to interact with him before I leave; I only have an hour. Should I wake him up?

The nurse says he had a very wakeful night, very unsettled, that he kept getting up, coming out of his room (with his walker), making his way to the sitting area, then going back into his room and back to bed again, over and over. At one point, he curled up on the nursing home couch and fell asleep. The night caregiver covered him with a blanket, not wanting to disturb him, hoping he might finally sleep.

This image of my elderly father wandering, restless, searching, in the middle of the night, just breaks my heart.

I cannot write it, without crying.

Right now, it is morning, and sunshine streams in the beautiful large windows, a bright winter sun, gliding easily through the branches of deciduous trees. The day beckons. This nursing home sparkles. It is a nice place, well taken care of, with good, kind personnel. Truly, this nursing home is a lovely place, considering.

I think of him in the middle of the night and I think - this nursing home, this is not his home. He doesn't know where he is. She (Mom) is not here. He doesn't want to be here. My family and I wonder, is he - perhaps - afraid of where he's headed, what death means?

Disquiet.

Anonymous people caring for him, calming him, redirecting him, encouraging him. They speak gently. They give him space and freedom to wander a bit, keeping him safe.

This image of my elderly father wandering, restless, searching, in the middle of the night - maybe he's remembering making rounds at the shipyard? Checking on things.

I'll never know.

I decide to walk over and just stand at his bedside, quietly. Remember that trick we all had as young children, where you stare your parent into awake? Yes! I decided to try it again.

I stood next to his bed, bending over, looking, staring, sending him the unspoken message, "Wake up, I am here!"

He woke!!
Truly!
He sensed me.
His first thoughts were muddled - Who's there? What? Then, "Oh, yeah, Maureen, you have to go back this morning." (He remembered!!)

He is quiet for a minute or two. Then,

"Maureen, look at you in that picture. You were very little then, weren't you? It doesn't seem that long ago."

I turn my head to see the photo that he is looking at, hanging on the wall near his bed:




This photo was taken about fifty years ago.

"No, Dad, it doesn't. It doesn't seem that long ago at all."



Such a precious few minutes with my father. I am blessed.

SOL 19 Slice #13 Carefully

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.

Four months old...
I look at her, she looks at me,
I coo at her, she coos at me,
I smile at her, she smiles at me,
back and forth, we play and play and play.
I know she needs a nap,
as her hands rub her eyes.
What was it the doctor said,
to aim for three naps a day?
How I'd love just a little more play.
Let me try a bottle,
let me hold her in my arms,
ahhh, just the trick, just the thing,
she falls asleep in my arms,
deep asleep,
before the final sips.
Carefully,
oh so carefully,
I slip the paci in her mouth,
and, carefully,
oh so carefully,
move her to the bedroom,
where her easy-on sleep suit awaits,
there in the bassinet.
Carefully,
oh so carefully,
I lay her down,
slip those tiny feet into the leg openings,
those tiny hands and arms into theirs,
and carefully,
oh so carefully,
I give a pull, to close the cozy suit.
Carefully,
oh so carefully.
I have been still, and slow, and soft.
I give one tiny pat of love on her tummy,
only to see
a smile, full smile,
breaking out around the pacifier,
eyes wide and looking,
at me,
searching.
"Don't meet the eyes," my son, her father, warned.
Those eyes,
now locked on me,
as if to say:
Who are you kidding, Nana?
You don't want me in here, with you out there!
I slip out, quickly,
carefully,
only to hear her fret,
then a stronger cry.
She knows,
and I know,
I'll be back in to get her.
Isn't there a better time to practice napping?
Isn't there a better enforcer than Nana?

SOL 19 Slice #12 Being With You

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.

It's my anniversary...Tony and I celebrate 31 years of marriage today! Here's an attempt at poetry (31 lines!) to commemorate our special day...

BEING WITH YOU

finding one another
chatting, conversing, joking, charming, sweet-talking, 
dreaming, hoping, and longing

dating, being with
piano-playing, softball-throwing, ping-pong-challenging
shoveling snow, retreating, burrowing together

reading, making playlists, writing love notes
fitting together well

hugging, kissing, caressing

 being gentle with one another
marrying 

baking biscuits, keeping house, taking care of one another
moving, dancing, laughing
intertwining
having babies, raising boys

creating a home, a family, a life together

walking, climbing, hiking, traversing, exploring the great outdoors
traveling, sightseeing

praying, believing

surprising, intriguing, listening
caring, devouring, trusting, honoring, treasuring

persevering

hungering for and satisfying
supporting and comforting, mourning together, holding each other up

wrapping in warm tender love 

 becoming grandparents, hearts swelling, together
making memories and reminiscing

growing old together
handling with care
loving

holding on to one another