March 2022 SOLC–Day 21
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

It’s quiet now. Only the hum of the heater stirs the air. The coffee pot has ceased its productive gurgling, and subsided into its silent warming mode. Every so often it emits a faint tick. The cat, who not long ago was perched on the windowsill, lowly growling at the local prowling tom, has moved on. 

I gather my thoughts. Begin to write. Savor the smooth flow of pen on paper under my hand. 

Outside, the moon, through some trick of light and window screen, forms a brilliant cross in the sky. It pulls my eye, again and again. Turning my attention away from the page. I know it’s something I can’t capture with my camera. Still, I put down my pen, turn off the inside lights and try anyway.

Then I step out the door into the dark, cold morning, stand in the winter-bare garden, and savor the moonglow.

Soon enough, the sun will rise.

Soon enough, the winds of the day will gather and turn.

Soon enough, the silence will vanish.

I linger for just a bit longer. 

Savoring the silence about me.

Gathering my calm before the day begins.

March 2022 SOLC–Day 20
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

Some days I process and think through pictures. Just like having a pen in hand, my lens helps me to lean into the moment. To focus on where I am, what I’m doing, what I’m seeing. In both cases, it’s all about being there. Showing up. You have to sit down and pick up the pen. Or get outside and look through the camera. You have to look to see what really is there.

Sometimes my focus is surprising. Shifting unexpectedly. I start writing, thinking I’m going to write a funny story about something that happened at school and suddenly I’m hooked into a long ago memory that still has sharp edges. Or when I’m taking photos, sometimes I head out thinking I’m going to capture clear skies and migrating birds, but fog moves in, and the atmosphere shifts and suddenly all I can see is the trees and the mist and the subtle shifts in light. 

Today we walked through field and forest and along marsh and ocean. It was a moody day and the scenery was dense with atmosphere and fog that lifted, fell, and sometimes almost glowed. I could have stood and watched the show for hours. 

March 2022 SOLC–Day 19
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

The kids scramble into the room creating the typical hubbub of morning energy with jostling elbows and bumping backpacks. Greetings and bits and pieces of stories fill the air. I start scanning to see who is there. Who is absent today.

My colleague walks into the room.
“Um, just to let you know.” She gives me a sympathetic glance. “A couple of my students just told me that Arnie is down by the swamp*. Again.”

Ugh. I bite back the words that I want to respond with, and grit my teeth smile. “Ok, thanks.”

Since my classroom is out in a modular, my students have to walk down a path, out of sight of the bus greeters, every morning. Arnie, again and again, has been unable to resist the call of the wild on this journey. It is sadly not unusual for other students to report to me or to other teachers that Arnie is rolling down a snow covered hill. Or has handed someone his backpack to carry in while he’s climbing over the railing. Or whatever.

Now to those of you people who say “Oh, how cute! What a free spirit! He’s investigating nature. Showing his curiosity,” I say “BAH HUMBUG!” Loudly. Defiantly.

I have no desire, no remaining energy, to approach this situation with a lens of curiosity. Or engage in more collaborative problem solving. Or use the power of my words: “I’ve noticed…” or “What might help you…?”

I am 100% over it.

So, after the rest of the kids come in, I go outside and extract Arnie from the swamp with some well-chosen carrying redirecting words. Clearly my reminders and our ongoing conversations about following school rules, safety concerns and initiating work in a timely manner haven’t gotten through to Arnie.

It’s time to call in the big guns: Kelli R., Assistant Principal.

Once kids are settled and working, I pick up the phone, dial, then pull the cord around the door to step outside the classroom. Even though the door is mostly closed, there’s a well placed window in the door, so I can see what’s going on in the room.

The phone rings.

Kelli picks up.

“Hi, Kelli, ” I begin, “I’m wondering if you could talk to Arnie for me.”

In the room, Arnie looks up. The kids seem restless. I step a little further away from the door, lower my voice and continue, explaining the situation to her. As our conversation ends, Kelli agrees that she’ll speak to Arnie and says she has time right now.

I walk back in the room, hang up and cross toward Arnie, preparing to send him off.

“Mrs. Hogan,” several kids chime in. “Your mic was on the whole time.”

I stop in my tracks.

What!?

“Yeah, who’s Kelli?”

Frozen, I quickly retrace the conversation in my head, trying to figure out what they’d overheard.

You need to know that we have a classroom audio system that sends our voice into all corners of the room. So, if I’m writing something on the board and still talking, kids can hear me easily. Also, kids in the back of the room can always hear as well as kids in the front. It’s a great system.

Until it isn’t.

In this instance, while I had been careful to step out of the room and lower my voice, I had neglected to turn off the microphone around my neck. Luckily, I’m pretty sure I kept it professional. I mean, I was talking to the Assistant Principal

So, after quietly apologizing to Arnie for broadcasting his situation through the classroom (he really didn’t seem to care and I’m not even positive he realized he’d been the topic under discussion), I then told him where he was going and why.

“But, they told me to do it!” he exclaimed.

“Well, that’s a really good thing to discuss with Mrs. R.,” I said, while handing him a door pass to get into the building.

Yup. Over it.

*The swamp in question isn’t a full-fledged swamp, it’s more of a cattail-filled retaining pool for draining water and, evidently, for attracting wayward ten-year-olds.

March 2022 SOLC–Day 18
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

I’ve never been a big one for “fancy” dress. I don’t even recall playing dress-up as a child. Certainly, I admired Cinderella’s ball gown, but I don’t think I ever spent much time envisioning my own. Fashion has never been my thing.

In one of my earliest memories, though, I’m drawing a princess with my neighbor. We’re at her house, I think, though that’s more a feeling than a certainty. I do remember clenching the crayon in my fist, slowly drawing the triangle dress, the circle for the head. Then, after a short pause, I regripping and drawing the definitive triangle to sit firmly on my princess’s head. That simple symbol made a declaration. This was no mere girl. This was a princess!

Now I wonder– when did royalty wear such head gear? Did they ever? How did I even know about it? Had my neighbor friend, older than I and wiser in the ways of the world, taught me?

I suspect even then I knew that my drawing talents weren’t sufficient without some heavy-handed clues to guide the viewer. Those triangles were so simple. So satisfying. A neat little princess label. Nothing fancy. But it worked.

March 2022 SOLC–Day 17
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

Every day I look to the sky for small pleasures. Sights that bring me joy. Views that anchor me in the moment, while simultaneously transcending it. This morning already, there’s the opalesque glow of the moon, partially obscured by clouds, as it sets behind the barn. It’s transformed the dull grey of the barn roof to a soft, glowing pewter. Sky views buoy me:

A bisected sunrise punctuated by the silhouettes of rising tree branches.

The melancholy pull of migrating geese.

The drama of an intersection of clouds.

A solitary eagle in flight against a dawn drenched sky.

As I navigate through recent grief, I turn to the skies to leaven my days. to help me rise.

And every day, though my heart is heavy, and my feet remain firmly on the ground, I am lifted.

March 2022 SOLC–Day 15
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

A loud squawk reverberated through the house.

“What was that!?” Lydia asked from the kitchen.

“I don’t know! It sounded like a chicken,” I said, more than slightly alarmed, “but it came from the living room.”

“Was it the cats?” Kurt asked.

Lydia, the intrepid sort, walked through on her way to investigate. I followed at a safe distance behind.

We flipped the lights on in the living room. We looked around. There, in the middle of the rug was Squirrel, one of our four household cats. 

“Squirrel, was that you?” Lydia asked. We both looked at her suspiciously.

Then, as our eyes adjusted to the light, we both added, “Oh….”

There, in the middle of the the rug in front of Squirrel, was a little mouse body.

I bent over to scoop up Squirrel. “Is it still alive?”

We peered at the mouse.

“I think it’s dead,” I said, while Lydia simultaneously responded, “I’m not sure.” 

“Could a mouse have possibly made that large of a noise?” I asked, looking at the mouse with concern.

“I don’t think so,” Lydia answered doubtfully.

We looked at the mouse.

We looked at the cat.

Neither gave anything away.

“Well, do you want to keep the cats away or deal with the mouse?” I finally asked, nudging another curious cat away from the carpet with my foot while struggling to hold a squirming Squirrel.

“I’ll deal with the mouse,” Lydia decided and went off to the kitchen.

A moment or two passed. Another cat slunk around the edges of the room.

“Lydia, what’s taking so long?” I yelled.

“I’m trying to figure out something to put it in.”

“Just grab the broom and a dustbin,” I called back, “It’s getting tough to keep the cats away.”

“But I’m not sure it’s dead,” she said, walking in the room with a small Tupperware container. “I needed something to slip under it, too.” She held a stiff piece of paper in her other hand.

We both bent down to look more closely at the mouse. 

Was it alive? It was hard to tell. The little body was in the exact position we’d found it in, but the eyes were suspiciously bright still. It looked hooked into the rug with its little paws. Was it literally petrified?

No novice at this operation, Lydia deftly dropped the container over the mouse and slipped the flyer underneath, trying to get the mouse on top of it. It didn’t alter its stance, and the pushing flyer merely moved it up against the side of the container.

This wasn’t looking promising for the mouse.

Lydia tried again.

“Wait! I think it moved!” she said, as she successfully slipped the flyer under the mouse and simultaneously lifted her now-inhabited Tupperware trap contraption.

Holding it gingerly in front of her, she left the room.

I put Squirrel down and let the other cats approach the carpet, which they sniffed enthusiastically, while eyeing me balefully. I could almost hear their little unspoken cat curses.

Lydia came back inside a few minutes later.

“It was definitely alive,” she reported. “I felt bad. I’m not sure if I was saving it or dooming it, putting it out in the cold.” She paused. “So, I decided to let it out right by Dad’s outdoor office so it might be able to slip underneath and stay warm.”

We’re just not going to mention that to Kurt.

March 2022 SOLC–Day 14
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

I don’t consider myself a misanthrope, but I much, much, much prefer my scenery without people in it. I’ve been known to grumble a bit a lot when other wanderers move into my scene and then have the audacity to LINGER there and enjoy the view. The nerve! 

At any rate, this morning I was looking over a couple of photos I’d recently taken. On this particular day, I’d adjusted my view to avoid some people who inconsiderately got in the way my husband and daughter, but because of that, many of the images felt chopped off. I finally settled on the one I liked the most, but it still had a figure in it. The figure (aka my husband) was far off in the distance and I honestly couldn’t decide if this might be one of the rare times that a person enhanced the photo.

So I decided to play around with the image a bit. I clicked on Edit, then scrolled down to Retouch. I adjust the size, fiddled around with some things and then clicked on my husband…
and he disappeared.

Oh! That felt so odd. Poof! And he was gone.

Better picture or not, I really didn’t like that.

Command Z.

Phew! There he is again. Ok, that feels better.

But honestly, which picture do you prefer?