Author Archives

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Sag Wagons

I’m two days in to our second week of school. Transitioning from summer mode to full-on school is always a shock to the system, and this year has been no different.

This past weekend I checked in with a friend who’d agreed to participate in a 30 mile fundraising bike ride last weekend–after not having ridden a bike in decades! (Talk about a shock to the system!)

“”Can you walk? How did it go?” I asked immediately, as she answered the phone.

Once she figured out what I was talking about, she laughed and filled me in. “It went well! There was a sag wagon that ran alongside, so if you got tired, you could get on that. I rode most of the way, but got on the sag wagon at the end, because we had reservations and needed to be on time. “

At first, I mostly ignored her accomplishment (sorry, Mels!), because I was immediately transfixed by the idea of a sag wagon. Having never participated in a bike race, this was a new term to me.

“OMG! I want a sag wagon! I think everyone needs a sag wagon in their life!” I declared.

I love this idea so much! The more I thought about it, the more I loved it. I imagine everyone’s sag wagon would look different, too. In the case of the bike race, it was a literal wagon, with room for bikes and tired or injured riders. But, couldn’t we have metaphorical ones as well? The things that provide us with a bit of respite or just a breather? I’m pretty sure that my Friday night sag wagon last week looked like most of a small Margherita pizza and a generous glass of red wine. Sometimes a sag wagon might be a conversation with a friend or time spent within the pages of a book. Or watching the birds. Or just saying “No” to a pile of work and walking away for a while.

It just struck me that we probably do already all have our own varied sag wagons, but that’s not enough. The harder part is that each of us needs to decide when to stop and hop on board. A sag wagon is not going to grab you and your bike and make that decision for you. You have to recognize that it’s in your best interest to access that wagon so you can keep moving forward and eventually finish the race, one way or the other.

“Congrats!” I said to my friend, “That’s impressive! You did it!”

“Well,” she hemmed, “I didn’t ride the whole way. I did get on the sag wagon.”

“You still did it,” I insisted.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she said. “I guess I did…Thanks!”

I’m not sure this sag wagon metaphor works on all levels, but I’m definitely going to keep thinking about it.

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Next Time…

This month Mary Lee offered up our monthly challenge. She asked us to use the poem “Next Time” by Joyce Sutphen as an inspiration to write our own “next time” poem.

There’s something so evocative about that phrase: “next time.” It incorporates both a sense of regret and a sense of hope. It offers a chance to “re-do” and intimates that there will be a time and place for doing so. Paradoxically, it seems to hold both the possibility of agonizing over mistakes (perceived or real) and/or of anticipating redemption.

For some reason, I really struggled to wrap my head around responding to this challenge. I’ve stopped and started again and again. I’ve played with tone and topic, writing and rewriting. The phrase has lived in my head like a resounding echo: “Next time…next time…next time…” Still, despite many starts, I’ve struggled to come up with one coherent poem.

At this point, I’m already late posting, so I’m cobbling together a few strands from my fits and starts, and hoping they hold together, however draftily.

Next Time

I won’t mourn
the hummingbird’s absence
whilst it still lingers in my garden. 

I won’t spend too long lingering
in the past or the future.
I’ll take the hike, dive into the sea,
read the book and write the poem.
I’ll focus on creating a here and now
to savor.

Next time, I’ll learn earlier about perspective–
how shifting your lens
can change the world from frightening
to exciting, bringing new views
and understandings.

I’ll embrace each challenge, enjoy the process,
buckle up and ride the highs and lows
of the learning curve, leaning into faith, 
rather than fearing failure’s stain.

Next time, I’ll wear that stain
like a badge of honor
a proud proclamation that I
didn’t settle into complacency,
nestling too deeply into
my comfort zone.

I’ll also know
the comfort zone isn’t a bad place
to linger for a while.
It just shouldn’t become
a permanent residence.

Next time I won’t be seduced by comfort
or become paralyzed
in a web of “what if’s” and worries.
I’ll turn a deaf ear to the siren’s call
of safety and perfection, boldly
ignore the neat restraints of convention
and step forward to spread my wings.

Even if I only flap wildly
or fly in an ungainly manner
even if I never soar…
I’ll try.
Next time.

©Molly Hogan, draft

If you’re interested in seeing what the other Inklings did with this challenge, click on the links below:

Linda @A Word Edgewise
Mary Lee @Another Year of Reading
Catherine @ Reading to the Core
Margaret @Reflections on the Teche
Heidi @my juicy little universe

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Buffy Silverman at her blog. She’s offering a sneak peek into her soon-to-be-released book, Starlight Symphony. Be sure to stop by and take a look at this gorgeous book and check out some other poetry links while you’re there.

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Surprise!

There was a mole on my foot.

And then there wasn’t.

I want to be quite clear: This was no dermatological situation. I’m talking about the other type of mole– the furry, four-legged creature type.

ON MY BARE FOOT!

To be honest, I wasn’t sure exactly what it was at first. Or how we even connected. What I do know is that, unbeknownst to the other, we were both, apparently, enjoying a stroll in the garden. What happened next is uncertain except for the fact that I suddenly felt something on my foot. (Perhaps the creature noted the same thing.) I startled and looked down in time to see a ball of fur with a tail somersault away from me and across the bricks. It rapidly righted itself and scurried beneath the hostas.

I simultaneously screeched and jumped back.

OMG!!! What was that!?

After regaining my balance, I struggled to make sense of what had just happened.

Could I have bumped into it? Or did it bumble into me? And what was it!?

I replayed the moment in my mind. It definitely wasn’t a mouse…the tail was not nearly long enough.

Oh, no! …It couldn’t have been a rat! … Could it? I gulped hard.

No, I reassured myself, the tail was definitely furry, not rat-like.

So, was it a mole? Or a vole? What’s a vole anyway, and do moles or voles have furry tails? What else could it be?

Carefully, I approached the hostas and peered beneath them. I couldn’t make anything out in the shadows. With considerable trepidation, I pulled back a few of the leaves, but still saw nothing. I was relatively sure the creature remained beneath the hostas, so I decided to go get my camera and then wait and see what happened.

I crept inside and then back out, camera in hand, ready to assume my observation position. After several minutes, a leaf rustled. Then another. Something was definitely moving about beneath the hostas!

Oh, I wish I’d thought to put some shoes on!!!

Then… was that a foot? I crouched down to get a better view.

Yes! And then, between the leaves… a patch of dark fur? Maybe…

Yes! It was definitely fur and it looked like the right color. This had to be the same creature! (And really what were the odds that it wasn’t? If they were good, I didn’t even want to know.)

Bit by bit, more of it emerged from beneath the leaves, until finally it was fully visible.

Its face (nose? snout?) was long and its feet were large. It had one of those weird noses. Star-nosed? That rang a dim bell. It definitely looked like it belonged in the mole category somewhere. It was quite undisturbed by my presence on the garden path. It rustled along the edge of the bricks, periodically pausing to dig energetically between bricks or beneath a plant. Go! Go! Go! It was a digging machine! (I put another check in my mental mole classification chart.)

I followed it around for at least 10 minutes, watching it dig, trying to get a clear shot of its amazing nose. This is the best one I could manage, because I’m telling you, that thing moves like crazy! Dirt was flying and most of the time its head was buried or hidden beneath leaves.

Eventually I tired of watching the mole and went inside. As far as I know it continued its digging adventures. A little googling revealed that it was indeed a star-nosed mole. It’s semi-aquatic and has 22 appendages on its nose which are in constant motion. Whoa! It can also smell underwater and is functionally blind. So probably it bumped into me, and that also explains why it was totally unperturbed by my unsubtle spectating.

It certainly wasn’t what I was expecting when I wandered out to the garden, but I’ll take it. Another day, another miracle in the garden!

Tomorrow, though, I’ll wear shoes.

(Side note: My husband NEVER hears me when I screech/shriek/scream outside. This most recent experience confirmed for me that I’m pretty much doomed if a significant misadventure ever happens in our yard.)

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A Wordle Poem

SPOILER ALERT: If you haven’t played yesterday’s Wordle, do not go any further! (I’m not even sure if you can go back a day to play, but I don’t want to take any chances! That’s why I waited until Saturday to post– A Wordle-spoiler is an evil thing, indeed!)

So, you might have guessed that I’m addicted to Wordle (and Connections and Spelling Bee and all sorts of word games…) and play daily. A couple of years ago I used to use my Wordle guesses to write poems. I’ve fallen out of that habit, but yesterday the urge struck me to try it again. I solved Wordle in three guesses, and these were my three words (last chance to avoid the spoiler!!): scold, clean, leech.

Here’s the poem they inspired:

August Resistance

As summer’s last days unfold,
I will not scold myself for
failing to clean, to organize,
to do one thing, then yet another.
I refuse to allow duty
to leech joy
from these precious budding days.

Instead, I will honor 
their haphazard blossoming.
I will simply be
content
as I am
amidst the glorious chaos
of my unweeded garden.

©Molly Hogan

Here’s hoping you’re enjoying every bit of the unfolding of these golden summer days.

The Poetry Friday Roundup this week is with Rose at her blog, Imagine the Possibilities.

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Early Morning Adventure

I set out on my morning walk, energized by the bright sun, blue skies and low humidity. About a half mile down the road, I spied something on the road further ahead of me. It was almost triangular in shape, larger at its base and rising to a sort of peak. What was it?

It didn’t look like a branch or bundle of leaves… Was it an animal? Was it a bird? I peered ahead. What could it be?

A car drove down the road, narrowly missing the object. As the car passed, the whatever-it-was lifted up a bit and shifted around. Oh, it’s definitely alive. That looked a bit like flapping. I think it’s a bird!

I picked up my pace. As I neared the object, I could see that it was most definitely a bird. In fact, it was a blue jay.

Another car came around the corner and I waved it to the other side of the road, away from the bird. After it passed, I knelt down and assessed. The bird looked a bit disheveled, but wasn’t obviously injured. The tail feathers were quite short, which made me think it might be a juvenile. I looked up and around. Where had it come from? I didn’t see a nest, although there were plenty of trees overhanging the road.

The main thing was to get it to a safer spot. I placed my hands closer to it, and it immediately hopped up and down agitatedly. That seemed like a good sign, health-wise, but it clearly didn’t want me to touch it. Still, I needed to get it out of the road. I reached down again, nudging it gently toward the edge of the pavement but met with little success.

“Come on, buddy,” I said. “I’m just trying to help you.”

I was pretty sure I was going to need to pick it up. I looked askance at its beak, which appeared quite large. Potentially painfully large. I considered my options and opted to procrastinate by taking a photo while I was at it. (See how big that beak is!?)

“You’re not going to peck me if I pick you up, are you?” I asked.

Then, figuring it really couldn’t do that much damage, I reached down, crouching and slowly cupped my hands around the bird, simultaneously moving toward the edge of the pavement.

Suddenly, SQUAWK!!!!! SQUAWK!!!! SQUAWK!!!!

A crescendo of piercing squawks of protest filled the air. How could something that loud come from this small bird?! Thoreau apparently described the jay’s ear-splitting call as a “steel cold scream”, and in this instance, I couldn’t disagree! I was so surprised that my hands flew open and the bird tumbled out of them, somersaulting onto the grass. It looked at me indignantly, but appeared none the worse for wear.

“Well, I’m sorry,” I said, defensively, “but I wasn’t expecting that!”

With the bird safely out of the road, I decided to leave it where it was and continue my walk.

“If you’re still here when I get back,” I told it, “I’ll be taking you home with me.”

Whether that was threat enough or not, I don’t know, but upon my return, about a half hour later, the jay was nowhere in sight. My ears were still ringing though!

It was quite an early morning adventure!

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Poetry Friday is Here! Considering Joy

Welcome to Poetry Friday! I’m delighted to be hosting this week’s Roundup, even though it did sneak up on me. (Where did July go anyway?)

by Stephanie Corfee

I’ve been thinking about joy a fair bit recently. I’ve been considering what it is, where I find it, how I nurture and spread it, etc. Way back in May, I read the transcript of a fabulous 2023 commencement address given by Sarah Leavitt to students graduating from the UBC School of Creative Writing. Entitled Joyful Persistence , it was all about finding joy in creative practice. Here’s a small quote to entice you to find some extra time to read it:

“For most of my life, my art-making, whether it was drawing, writing or making comics, felt painful and fraught. But now – most of the time – creative practice is something that steadies me, something I rely on to think and feel my way through the world. It’s a source of deep joy. I’m going to share some ideas with you today that have helped me make that shift.”

slide from Sarah Leavitt’s presentation

At about the same time that I read this, I happened to read Mary Oliver’s , Don’t Hesitate. The final line “Joy is not made to be a crumb” sang for me. Don’t you just love it? I returned to it recently, and it inspired me to write this golden shovel, which is still a work in progress.

Joy
after Mary Oliver’s “Don’t Hesitate”

It sneaks up on you. Joy-
a whisper, a flutter, and whoosh! there it is,
rich, heady and full throated, not
something to nod at in passing, but made
to be fully savored, to
wander and wallow in. Stop! Be
greedy! Gobble up each morsel! This is a
moment to lick your plate clean of every crumb.

©Molly Hogan, draft

Then, in a lovely moment of serendipity, I came across this quote:

Joy as insurrection…wow!

Consider this an invitation to rise up against the oppression of fear, and stir up the pot of joy with big, messy strokes! One way to do so is by sending some poetry out into the world, so you’re invited to share your link at the Inlinkz link party– Click here to enter . You’re also pretty sure to find some joy by clicking on other links and seeing what’s on offer this week. En-JOY!

PS I may be a bit delayed in making the rounds due to summer visitors, but I’ll be around sooner or later.

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An Unexpected Gift

I walked down the beach, soaking in the long sweep of solitude. I’d been inundated with activity and people lately, and needed this time apart to recalibrate. I was feeling frazzled and fractured.

As I walked, the wind blew relentlessly into my face, transforming my dangling earrings into wind chimes. I wandered along, soaking in the serenity and the scenery, stopping occasionally to take pictures. Struck by an isolated boat at anchor. The interplay of granite, tree and sky. Or a still life of rocks beneath my feet.

Moving along the beach, I spotted a large piece of driftwood. I love driftwood with its intricate lacing of pale sea- and salt-worn branches and roots. I angled up the beach to get closer. There were rocks tucked in to some of the crevices, and a strand of grass had opportunely seeded and was reaching toward the sky.

I began taking pictures. Often, photography can serve as a sort of meditation for me. I find myself lost in the flow of what’s around me. Moving seamlessly from object to object. Looking at the light. The shapes. The shadows. It was exactly what I needed at this time. As I took pictures in the sun, with the wind and waves and the worn wood and tide-tumbled rocks, I felt my own edges smooth out. I felt the stress of the past day fade away.

Then, thinking the light would be better, I walked around to the other side of the driftwood to take a few more photos. There were more rocks tucked in the tangled roots. It took me a second to realize there was writing on them. This was the first one I read:

I was stunned. The writing was so random and unexpected, yet so apt and intimate. I felt like I’d received a secret message.

I read all the other rocks, and noticed spots where people had graffitied the wood with positive words and images.

I imagined different people choosing their rocks, writing a message of hope and comfort, then tucking them into the nooks and crannies of this tide-tossed tree, not knowing who might ever read it. Not knowing how welcome its message might be.

What a lovely note of kindness to put out into the world. What a gift.

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August Challenge: You Are Here

I just returned today from participating in the weeklong Quoddy Writing Retreat with Georgia Heard and Ralph Fletcher. My head is spinning, thoughts are percolating, and I am utterly exhausted. But… it’s the first Friday of August, which means the Inklings’ challenge is due.

This month our challenge came from Catherine Flynn who asked us to respond to Ada Limón’s You Are Here prompt: What would you write in response to the landscape around you? Lke Heidi’s prompt last month, this is such a perfect summer prompt. I really wish I’d been able to dedicate more time to this (and hope to play around with it some more), but the retreat was only a small part of my recent whirlwind of travel and visitors. I’m sharing something I wrote a few weeks ago that more or less fits the bill.

By the way, the sunflowers took off while I was away, and this is what they look like now:

Isn’t it wonderful to reap a reward from NOT weeding? Ah, the benevolence of benign neglect!

If you’d like to check out what the other Inklings did with this prompt, click on their links:
Linda A Word Edgewise
Catherine Reading to the Core
Margaret Reflections on the Teche
Mary Lee Another Year of Reading
Heidi my juicy little universe

This week’s Poetry Friday is hosted by Laura Purdie Salas at her blog. She’s celebrating the book birthday of her newest picture book, “Line Leads the Way”.

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Retreat!

“When are you going to find time to slice today?” Amy asked me as we passed in the hall.  

It was early on the second day of the Quoddy Writing Retreat led by Ralph Fletcher and Georgia Heard. I’d found out during the March challenge that Ana and her friend, Amy, would be here and had looked forward to meeting both of them. They both seem delightful …which is why typing my response to her question makes me cringe even more than when I said it.

“I was thinking about that, ” I replied, “but then I didn’t know if I could slice and be honest because you and Ana might read it!”

Immediately, I regretted saying this. Ugh. Somehow my filter has definitely frayed as I’ve gotten older. How in the world could anyone reasonably respond to that!? (Sorry, Amy!) 

Amy looked a bit taken aback, and I quickly retreated, saying my goodbyes and continuing on my way, mentally kicking myself the whole way. We didn’t cross paths again that morning. 

But let me back up a bit.

Many months ago, when I signed up for this retreat (the first writing retreat I’ve ever participated in), I knew I was pushing myself out of my comfort zone. I knew that I’d likely be uncomfortable. First of all, I’m an introvert and am especially uncomfortable in large social groups. Secondly, I’d be sharing my writing with strangers. Thirdly, I’d be sharing my work with…Ralph Fletcher and Georgia Heard! Fourth…

Well, I could go on, but suffice it to say that months ago, it felt like an important challenge for me. Unfortunately, as I’ve learned more and more about growth mindset, I’ve realized that my own is lamentably weak. I wish I viewed new experiences as opportunities to stretch myself. Actually, I do view them that way, at least intellectually. Emotionally, it’s a whole different situation. My intellect had been in charge when I signed up, but after the first day at the retreat, my emotions had made a surprisingly strong and unwelcome surge. Imposter sydrome also made an ugly appearance. I felt slightly under siege.

By the end of the first full day, I’d written morning notes in my notebook, breakfasted with the group, listened to Ralph and Georgia, written for another 1 + hours, participated in a response group and shared my work, met with Ralph Fletcher (who, after reading my work, disappointingly did not turn to me exclaiming about my genius and offering to set me up with his agent), lunched with everyone (and they’re all interesting and friendly people, but all the personalities and remembering the names and matching them to faces and trying to remember whom I’d talked to about what…Ack!) and headed out for a hike (beautiful!)  with a group (lovely and low key…but still… people!), then a reception at Ralph’s house (wow! gorgeous! More people and conversation…), and then a lobster dinner for the group…

Perhaps having read that grammatically challenged and surely convoluted prior sentence/paragraph helped you relate: I was utterly exhausted and more uncomfortable than I ever might have imagined. I felt a visceral urge to… RETREAT! (The irony is not lost on me.)

“There are just SO many people!” I said when I called my husband that night. “I’m not sure I realized how intensely introverted I’ve become. I think it’s getting worse, rather than better with age.”

Still, a good night’s sleep began to put things into a better perspective. I realized that my response was way out of proportion, and probably rooted more in anxiety than in reality. In the light of a new day, I took stock. A part of me has really enjoyed meeting with and talking with all these people. Ralph and Georgia are great, and I have a warm, supportive response group. To be honest, it was also helpful to know that most of the group was heading to Campobello Island to see the Roosevelt’s cottage and have “Tea with Eleanor”. Having passed on the outing (since I’d done both before), I knew I would have some afternoon down time. By mid-morning, I felt more composed and had managed to get a better perspective on my oversized reaction.

Somehow, unfortunately, I hadn’t quite attained this sense of equilibrium before seeing Amy (sorry again, Amy!), and those words just spilled out, sour left-overs from yesterday’s turmoil.

After our workshop time ended today, everyone grabbed lunch and headed off on their adventure. And I opted to spend a LONG time here:

Ahhhhhhlone!

Instant recalibration.

So, now it’s a little after 5 pm, and rather than holing up in my room, I’m typing in the common room of the lodge. I’m actually hoping to catch up with some people as they return from the island outing.

Believe it or not, right now, dinner with a few companions sounds quite nice.

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Interwoven Possibilities

Earlier this week I went to the Portland Museum of Art to see a special exhibit entitled: Woven. It features the amazing art of Wabanaki weaver, Jeremy Frey. According to the museum’s publicity, it is “the first-ever major retrospective of a Wabanaki artist in a fine art museum in the United States.” (How can that be?!)

The work is stunning. Frey’s weaving is intricate and elegant. He describes his style as “cutting-edge traditional,” as he embraces traditional materials and methods and uses them in innovative ways. The museum showcased his baskets, but also prints and even a 3D sculpture. I was especially captivated by the sculpture, and by its title and description. I used the latter to create a found poem, which I then combined with a photo of the sculpture.

A different vantage of the sculpture. I guess the wall must be hollow!

This week’s Poetry Friday is hosted by Marcie Flinchum Atkins. Among other things, she’s sharing exciting news about her book, Wait, Rest, Pause: Dormancy in Nature. Be sure to stop by her site and while you’re there, click on a few links to make the rounds!