Day 13

Recently, my 6-year old cousin, Bianca, was riding in the car with her mother.  A song came on the radio and she exclaimed,  “You need to download this song because it gives me a dance in my brain. Whenever I get a dance in my brain I just need the song.”

I loved the idea of a dance in my brain and began pondering. What makes my brain dance?   I’m not sure how Bianca intended this, but I like to think of it in a sort of Julie Andrews “My Favorite Things” way, but maybe mathematically squared.  Instead of what makes my heart sing, it’s what makes a dance in my brain. 

So, here’s a list of the top 10 things that put a smile on my face,  a bounce in my step and a dance in my brain (in no particular order):

1.  Having my family all together (sappy, predictable, but true)  — We don’t even have to be interacting but knowing      we’re all in the same building together warms my heart.

2.  The big, untidy pile of books by my bed, all waiting to be read

3.  Snow days (which create a downright boogie when called the night before!)

4.  Homemade soup bubbling on the stove on a cold winter day

5.  Discovering a “new-to-me” author (especially one with a long list of published books)

6.  Crossing something off a to-do list (If I forgot to put it on the list before I did it, I will add it afterward just for the          sheer pleasure of crossing it off!)

7.  Libraries and book stores

8.  Casual, inconsequential, friendly conversations with strangers after which I walk away thinking, “I like people.”

9.  Spring flowers–especially big, blowsy poppies nodding in my garden or the brilliant blue scilla that carpets the hill      to my house

10.  Words– writing, word games and word play (Will Shortz’ weekly Puzzle on NPR, The New York Times Sunday          Crossword Puzzle, Boggle, etc.)

What makes a dance in your brain?

Day 12

I live in Maine
where currently feet of snow
still blanket the earth
and winter can be long
especially in March or April
But I am thankful
to live in a  place
where Bean Boots
are acceptable footwear
just about anywhere
anytime
and people don’t rush
too much
and some counties have
only one traffic light.

I live in Maine
and commute to work
on roads that wind
through fields that glow with snow
or with the hazy green
of growing crops
depending on the season
and the sun rises
over living things
rather than concrete and asphalt
and bird song fills the morning
rather than sounds of moving cars
and there are no billboards
to block the sky.

I live in Maine
and every time I return
from a trip away
I take a deep breath and relax
Crossing the Piscataquis Bridge
I am home.

Day 11–At the end of a long day, I want to post and continue to meet the challenge, but I really had to yank some of this out.  Hoping for a better writing day tomorrow!

Late night last night
Forgot to set the alarm
Overslept—Oops!
Cat nosed me awake
Not altruistic,
She wants her breakfast.
Hurry! Hurry!
Rush! Rush!
Discovered why the mudroom
smells like cat pee.
Cleaned it up
threw away
a half dozen pairs of shoes.
Cat’s in the doghouse!
No time to brew coffee
Zipped into Starbucks
Busy, busy day
Reading
A dental visit for the class
Crazy Math assessment
(Don’t get me started!)
A lunch of quickly shoveled yogurt
Writing
End of the day—School’s out
Raced to my car
Visited the Share Center
Picked up buttons,
tubes, handles and more
Instrument building tomorrow
Home to homework
PD class begins tomorrow
Assignments already
videos to watch
an article to read
I only want to sleep
Remember that math assessment?
It needs to be corrected.
Grades due next week.
Comments to write
I am so tired!
Cat leaps up and
curls by my side, catnapping.
I’m jealous.
This is ridiculous.
Good night!

Tonight,  I raced from school to Portland to participate in a writing group/class.  Our focus this evening was on word choice.  I wrote the following poem responding to a prompt to write something related to celebrating life.

By the way, for some reason I can’t get the spacing right on this blog, so my stanzas won’t stay separate!  Grrrr!  That’s a problem to address on an evening when I have a bit more energy. For now,  as we say in my class, in lieu of apologizing for a roughly crafted piece, “I just wrote this.”  (In other words there’s still work to be done, but not if I’m going to meet the posting deadline tonight!)

On a blustery March day
She shrugs off the snow
Liberating her limbs
From the cold heavy burden
Stretching them toward the sky
The nearing sun warms her
Energizes her
Spring is coming.

On a drizzly day in April
She stands
Ghostly in the mist
A solitary sentinel
Feeling the rain trickle slowly
down her sides
Into the moist earth below
A long cool drink
of nourishing water
Spring is coming.

On a windy evening in May
Her branches tremble
In the crepuscular light
Softly shaking in the warm breeze
Buds emerging
Forming a halo of green
A verdant promise
Spring is coming.

June arrives
Buds swell and open
Small furled leaves appear
Fetal at first
Then full-fledged
Small serrated sails
in a blossom-scented breeze
They lift and sway
Susurrant
Casting shifting shadows below
Spring is here.

Day 9 Slice of Life Challenge

Is there a happier sound than someone else in the kitchen making dinner?  My husband is busy cooking and my two home-from-college-on-break kids and I lounge in the family room.  I’m mentally running through my day, wondering what to write tonight while they are reading—Joe Hill and Wendell Berry.  That choice pretty much sums up some significant differences in them:  Connor preferring Joe Hill—author of ghostly stories, horror and supernatural and Addie opting for Wendell Berry—farmer poet and environmental activist. I love that my kids love to read and I love to watch them reading.  I figure if my husband and I did nothing else right, we did instill this deep appreciation for words and books.

Kurt periodically calls out questions from the kitchen and I respond.

“Do we have garlic?” 

“On the door of the fridge.”

“Where’s the tomato paste?” 

“I bought a tube of it.  It should be in the pantry.”

“Oh, I need tomato puree, not paste—do we have any?” 

“Nope.”

Addie lies down and tucks her head against my thigh.

“I’m tired.” she murmurs and yawns. 

“How’s your ear?”  I ask.  She moves her hair away so I can see the piercing.  “What’s that called again?” 

“The targus,” she says. 

“Well, it doesn’t look as irritated anymore.”  She yawns again and I rub my hand over her hair, brushing it away from her ear and temple.  She’s warm, soft, and sleepy against my thigh.

Kurt clanks pots and pans in the kitchen and tantalizing smells drift into the room. 

Connor turns a page.

I begin to write.

(Day 8 of the March challenge)

“Mmmmm!  It smells so good!”  we said simultaneously as we entered.  We breathed deeply, inhaling the rich earthy smell of mulch and the heady aroma of the blossoming plants that surrounded us.

“I’m so glad we came!” I said. 

“Oh, this is cool.” said L, and A nodded in agreement. 

We ambled through the show enjoying the colors, smells and creative landscaping. “Oh, look at that!”  “That’s so cute!”  “Maybe we could build a brick patio like that.”  “Don’t you wish we had a hot tub?”  “What’s that plant?”  “Oh, this one is definitely my favorite.”  “What smells so good?”

It was a lovely respite during a harsh winter.  A taste of spring.  Just a casual meandering, enjoying the sights, the smells and being with each other.  No rush, no jostling crowds.  Simply a feast for the senses and for our winter-weary beings.  Rejuvenating. 

Outdoors, despite some blue patches of sky, the scenery was still very white and cold.  “Look at the snow on that roof,” A said.  We eyed the sheet of snow cantilevered over the edge of a nearby roof with some trepidation then stepped a bit further away, as sodden white piles below testified to an impending avalanche.  The trickle and drip of water rivuletting off other roofs filled the air.  The parking lot was rutted and muddy, filled with puddles of water—not ice.  There were, in fact, signs of spring about if you looked carefully enough. 

My daughters, almost 20 and 17, suddenly burst into motion.  They ran through the wet pocked parking lot yelling, “Shotgun!” with arms flailing and legs pumping as they vied to reach the car first and obtain the coveted front seat for the ride home.  No dignity but such vibrancy!  I smiled and crossed the lot a bit more sedately, watching them and loving every moment.  

The squirrels are acrobatting around the bird feeders.  They leap across the snow, scurry up and down the birch tree and settle down for a nice seedy snack.  There are three of them this morning and I have to smile at their antics. We’ve never had squirrels this close before, because before…we had Liesl.

Liesl, who would never allow a pernicious squirrel within the perimeter of her domain.  And if one would dare to venture close, she would chase it, her whole heart engaged in the pursuit, lungs issuing forth staccato barks.  If she was inside and happened to spy a squirrel through the window, she would tense, quiver and then begin the barking, racing from window to window.  She’d look at us, pleading to go outside and deal with the invader.

There’s no silken-eared, sweet dog to chase the squirrels anymore.               I miss her.

I miss the echo –
The clickety-click-clack
of her toenails on
the pumpkin pine boards in the hall
the occasional mad scramble
of feet on wood
when exuberance briefly embraced her,
time-traveling from earlier days.

I miss the whisper and rustle
as she circled about
preparing her bed
in soft piles of
discarded clothes
on the bedroom floor
exhaling with a soft whump
when she finally
thumped to the ground.

I miss the scritch scratch
of her jittering legs and
the faint jingle jangle of her collar
as she dream-chased creatures
through the night
quivering with excitement.

There’s silence now.

And outside
The squirrels rejoice and
scamper about
between bursts of sunflower seed gluttony.
And while I smile
at their antics
my heart aches
for my happy brown dog.

Rest in peace
sweet Liesl.

(In the interest of full disclosure and because I’m a total rule follower, I confess that I wrote much of the poetic portion of this post at an earlier date, but I reworked it and added to it after seeing the invading squirrels this morning.)

     When I was young we had an electric meter outside our home.  It was a glass dome with a visible, spinning wheel.   My siblings and I used to check it to see how quickly the wheel was spinning.  We created a sort of game by running through the house and turning on everything electrical we could find  and then checking to see how fast the wheel was spinning.  We could really get that sucker moving!  Of course we never considered that the meter was directed related to bills that would be coming to our parents, nor did we ever go back to turn off the various lights, and assorted electrically powered items.  

At 3:45 this morning I lay in bed covered with assorted comforters in my old, drafty house.  The click, click, clank of the radiator echoed in the chill of the room.  On the first night we spent in this home, almost 8 years ago, those same unfamiliar radiator noises percussed through the night, amazingly loud, startling me awake again and again.  I wondered how I’d ever be able to sleep!  Over time I grew used to the sounds and rarely noticed them.  If I did, I found them oddly comforting, like the house was breathing, settling and cozying in warmly around me.  At night the sounds lulled me to sleep.  During this winter, however,  with its relentless bitter cold, the all-too-frequent sounds of the radiator evoke instead an image of a meter whirling wildly and siphoning money from my already dwindling bank account.  Click, click, clank.  Ka-ching!   

Thinking back to our childhood “game”  now makes me practically hyperventilate!  Sorry, Dad!

The benefits of slicing are already apparent to me.  Five days in, I find myself leading a more writerly life.  I’m viewing my world in a  different way, reflecting, concentrating on small moments, wondering which ones would make a good slice.   Knowing each day that I need to post makes me more present, more observant.

I love reading others’ slices and am inspired by what they post, but even more by the very act of their posting.  I am delighted to know that there is a wider community of people who value words and language and that they are willing to make a commitment to push themselves to write and post daily.  There is vulnerability in this act and there’s a leap of faith in sharing one’s writing with a wider, unknown community.

One of my slices this week was a poem about being a motherless daughter of two daughters.  After writing and posting this poem, I shared it with my daughters and also with my sisters.  Yesterday I was driving with my 17 year old and she commented, “I’ve been thinking a lot about your poem.”  That poem and those words opened the door to a conversation about love and grief and how they can intertwine and that something that is a blessing can also resonate with a loss.  That conversation would not have happened if I hadn’t been participating in this writing adventure.  It has inspired me to take risks by sharing parts of myself that I usually keep private. 

I am thankful for the opportunity to participate, for those who moderate this challenge and for those who take the time to comment on my posts.  I’m determined to keep on posting, but even if I don’t, I’ve already gained so much from this experience.

Winter pounds can really creep up on you.  My first hint that I’m losing the battle is subtle.  I begin to avoid certain items in my wardrobe, wash my jeans less frequently and embrace leggings and skirts.  Most years things level off at a certain point and then the advent of spring motivates me to eat better, get out and start moving and those pounds recede.  It’s just a yearly cycle.  Not a big deal.

This winter, however, was different.  It could be my new-found conviction that if chocolate has peppermint in it, it doesn’t count as chocolate.  It’s really a breath-freshener or perhaps a digestive aid.  Or perhaps it was peri-menopause or just plain old piggery.  I don’t know.  I do know that I pushed past that first, well-known phase with gusto and moved into a new one.  I call it the “Sausage Stage.”  Certain clothes (Ok, most of them) began to feel like sausage casings, restraining the extra poundage or at least rearranging it. 

“Oh my God,” I told my husband, “I’m getting a muffin top!”

“What’s a muffin top?”  he asked, thoroughly puzzled.

When I explained, he asserted that I was not getting a muffin top.  (Good boy!)  Still, I knew that things were getting out of hand—mostly because I could fill my hand with the newly acquired flesh around my middle!  I began to seriously consider investing in some Spanx.

And then I realized my annual physical was fast approaching.  It was time to pay the piper.

 First I made the necessary call and postponed the physical.  After gaining this few weeks of reprieve, I pulled the dusty non-digital scale out from under a pile of damp towels and stepped on it.  That’s when I saw “The Number”.  I shook the scale a little, set it back down, played with the dial and then stepped back on.  No change.  I had not weighed this much since I was pregnant or postpartum and “The Number” was now emblazoned in my brain.  In neon orange.  Flashing sparkling neon orange.   Drastic changes were in order.

I immediately began considering my food intake and made a huge effort to incorporate more greens, cut out cheese, and limit fat-laden calories.  Blah, blah, blah.  At one particularly low point,  I had a dreadful epiphany when I realized that venti Starbucks lattes, even made with non-fat milk, are not water and hence have calories.  Wine apparently does too.  Sigh. 

Four weeks later, I’d seen some good progress as the scale slowly crept downward and my wardrobe expanded.  And today the day arrived…my physical was this afternoon.  The nurse greeted me and walked me down the hallway and into a small room.  “Time to get weighed,” she said.  I took off every expendable item of clothing I wore.  Then, s-l-o-w-l-y I stepped toward the scale.  I paused, took a deep breath,  exhaled all the air in my lungs, and stepped on.   And…I was one pound less than last year!    I had vanquished “The Number!”

Tonight I think I’ll celebrate with a glass of wine and maybe one of those chocolate peppermint digestive aids.  And I will reset my dusty, non-digital scale as it turns out it was off by about 7 pounds– too heavy.  Cheers!