March 2022 SOLC–Day 12
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 woke to a world drenched overnight. With the sun hidden behind layered clouds, it felt like a time between. The air clung to the last remnants of rain. Droplets spangled tree branches, glowing silver in the dim light. I could feel the tug of the river, the mist, the layered trees.

So off I went, camera in hand. I wandered from place to place. Stopping when the mood hit me, to walk and soak in the atmosphere. Content to let the morning unfold around me.

At the river winter’s muted palette still reigns. Moody. Mysterious. (Note the eagle in the tallest tree.)

Pools, droplets and puddles caught my eye.

Eagles abounded. Immatures and adults. Far off and nearby. Perched and in flight.

Every where I turned something pulled my attention. I let my focus drift from one thing to another.

I drove to another nearby river, hoping to see the red-winged blackbirds in its adjacent marshes, drawn by the atmosphere. Shapes cloaked and shadowed. Pockets of mist in the distance.

I parked and walked. The landscape stretched out, bleak and empty. Until suddenly it erupted into movement. Then settled again. Like an exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

A dreary morning.
A generous morning.
A morning to wander.
A morning to wonder.
A morning to celebrate.

March 2022 SOLC–Day 11
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

(Today I went seeking “treasure” in my drafts file and opted to complete an old unfinished slice.)

“I don’t have a snack,” he said.

“Oh,” I replied. “I think we’re out. Why don’t you go ask the nurse? While you’re there, see if she has some extra snacks that we can keep in the room.”

I knew that the nurse had a supply of snacks available through a grant program. I’d been meaning to pick up some more, but hadn’t found the time to do so yet. This would be a good way to kill two birds with one stone.

A few minutes later, the student re-entered the room with a couple of protein bars in his hand.

“Oh, did she have any more for the class?”

“She said to tell you that she doesn’t have time to waste her time doing that right now and you’ll have to come down and do it later.”

Whoa! I thought, slightly taken aback. That doesn’t sound like Kim!

Later in the day, I bumped into Kim and relayed the story.

Laughing, she protested, “I did NOT say that!”

“Sure…” I said, laughing along.

At the end of the day, Kim popped into the classroom holding a bulging bag of snacks.

“Here!” she said, “I wanted to make sure you had some snacks.”

We both laughed again.

I’m still not sure what happened earlier when the student asked Kim for some snacks, but I’m pretty sure his version of her response was slightly skewed. Either way, at least we’re set for snacks now!

March 2022 SOLC–Day 10
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

Driving home from school yesterday afternoon, I glanced down at the clock.

5pm.

Ok, so I’ll get home around 5:30. Hmmmm. Would it be that bad if I just go to sleep when I get home?

I wasn’t kidding. Crawling into my bed sounded like the best thing I could imagine. I was 100% beat. No particular new reason. Just feeling the weight of the world. Ready to check out and reboot.

I continued musing. Even if I wake up in the middle of the night, so what? Tomorrow’s only one day to get through and then Friday’s a PD day. I could make it. It might not be pretty but I could do it.

I drove down the long hill toward the river. At the stop sign at the bottom of the hill a police cruiser with lights flashing blocked the road to the right. He waved me through to the left. As I turned, I saw several other sets of flashing lights in the distance. Clearly there had been an accident, and it looked like it must have been a bad one. My heart went out to those involved. Continuing unscathed on my way, I felt thankful but also oddly vulnerable.

How quickly someone’s day or even life can be upended.

And I was still utterly exhausted.

I got home and unpacked my bags. Did a little of this. A little of that. I tried to convince myself to stay up. Failed. Ultimately, I couldn’t really think of any good reason to do so.

At 6 pm I headed up to bed.

Sometimes you just need to check out.

March 2022 SOLC–Day 6
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

Two of the boys in my fourth grade classroom are best friends and totally opposite body types. One is petite and small boned, the other is the opposite. This wouldn’t be relevant, except that recently their recess activity of choice is for Amos* to get on all fours and for Arnie* to sit on his back as if riding a pony. Arnie’s feet literally don’t touch the ground. They don’t even come close. The two boys entertain themselves happily during every recess crawling around the snowy, icy playground, and no one even gives them a second glance anymore.

Yesterday on the way out to the bus, they approached me, eager to share their newest brainstorm for their game. Amos started.

“Mrs. Hogan, you know how Arnie rides on my back?”

I nod.

“Well, we’ve come up with a new plan. I’m going to wear my backpack so that when he gets on, he can use the straps like a saddle, to stay on better.”

“Oh…” I say, “…well, that sounds like a plan.” (I’m really not sure what else to say here.)

They move ahead of me and continue talking while I shamelessly eavesdrop.

“Hey, Amos, wouldn’t it be cool if we could do that like on the Oregon Trail?”

“Oh, dude! That’d be sick!”

“Yeah,” Arnie continued, ” and they’d look over and say ‘Look at that oxen.’ And then someone would say…’ Arnie inserted a dramatic pause and deepened his voice, ‘NO! That’s not an oxen! That’s a human!'”

The boys burst into hysterical laughter.

Sadly, I had to help another student then, and the boys moved out of audible range.

A moment later, I looked up to see them merging with the long line of departing school children ahead of them. Amos’s head and shoulders were clearly visible above the masses. Arnie’s were lost in the throng. But I was sure they were still walking together: Two pioneers on the trail to home.

*not their real names

March 2022 SOLC–Day 5
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

Mornings this week have been especially gorgeous. I have a beautiful commute through rolling rural hills and over a river to get to school. With overnight snowfalls and perfectly timed sunrises, I’ve been treated to one spectacle after another– sun-lit birches like candelabra rising from the snow, a river obscured by an incandescent mass of glowing fog, dried flower heads gathering snow like blossoms. My classroom view isn’t bad either.

So, I arrived at school on Friday feeling particularly grateful for living in Maine and decided to focus our morning meeting share on things we felt thankful for. I told my fourth graders they could share something about living in Maine, or they could mention anything they were grateful for. We went around the circle sharing.

“I’m thankful for family and friends.”

“I’m thankful for ice fishing, snowmobiling and sledding.”

“I’m thankful for all the open places.”

Then it was A’s turn. A is a petite, quirky kid who likes to contribute to conversations with his own twist.

“I’m grateful that I used to live in Alabama where it was 80˚ in the winter!” he announced emphatically.

B. (who is also quirky and once tried to convince me that a character with a dark outlook on life had probably previously had his amygdala damaged in an accident even if, “No, Mrs. Hogan, I can’t back that up with evidence from the story.”) turned to him. “If it was 80˚ in winter, what was it in the summer?”

“Oh, it was in the 100s,” he said.

There were a lot of “Whoas” and “Wows” from the northern-bred kids in my classroom.

Then I heard B. say to himself quietly, in all seriousness, “Well, I guess that explains why you’re so small. You probably had all the water boiled out of you.”

You can’t make these things up.

March 2022 SOLC–Day 3
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

Ruth Ayres offers a weekly prompt for writers on her blog. This morning’s was especially timely for me: Write about a writing habit.

This morning I woke up one minute before my alarm went off. 4:37 am. Why it’s set for that exact time I can’t tell you. Except 4:30 sounds so early, and 4:45 is too late. I can’t remember when I started rising so much earlier, but I can tell you that my mornings fall into a pattern that enriches me.

This morning, like every morning, I stumble out of bed and grab my glasses and robe. Downstairs I turn on the coffee pot, pour my OJ/cranberry juice mixture, and feed the cats. Curious about whether we got any snow last night or not, I turn on the outside lights. 

The scene has been transformed overnight, and it’s still snowing heavily. I hadn’t expected more than a dusting. The dried hydrangea blossoms, which should have been trimmed months ago, serve as mounting platforms for snow. The small garden lanterns wear tall top-hats and the birch tree is lined with a glistening white coat. I feel a momentary leap at the beauty and then a quick flutter of hope. Snow day? I don’t think so though. I quickly check the forecast and realize the snowfall should end within an hour or so. Thoughts of an extension to my relaxed morning fade away, and I slip back into my routine. Into my habit.

I sit down at the table where I write and look outside for a few more minutes. Feel gratitude swamp me for this view. For my home. I could linger here for a long while. Content to watch the snow fall past the outdoor lights, accumulate on the path…Content to do nothing but absorb it all…

Still, I haven’t written my SOLC post yet. I know I should probably go straight to the computer. Efficiency and all. But my hands automatically reach for my notebook. That’s my habit. That’s where I begin every morning. Some days it’s journaling, some days it’s story writing, some days it’s poetry, Most days it’s a mixture. But almost every day it happens. Page after page in my notebook. I strive for at least three pages, but honor whatever happens.

That’s my writing habit. An anchor in crazy times. The place where, as Ruth writes, words “wobble and bend” and “stack”. The place where I center myself before the day begins.

My gift to myself.