March 2018 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

“Ok, Molly,” I told myself, “Snow day or not, it’s time to get your PJ-bottomed-butt moving. This house is a mess!”

Cleaning is not my jam, as they say. In fact, there are probably petrified streaks of jam on more than one surface in my kitchen. Through trial and error, though, I’ve discovered that playing loud music is an antidote to the cleaning blues. So to get things started, I typed “fun cleaning music” into YouTube. A selection of playlists appeared and I randomly chose one. Click!  The music pumped out of the speakers. I raised the volume to borderline painful, and then, I started cleaning. Music almost makes cleaning fun!… Well, not really.

At any rate,  a couple of songs into my cleaning frenzy, the distinctive opening trumpet notes of OMI’s song, “Cheerleader” filled the room. I froze, Pledge in hand, and was instantly transported back to the Summer of 2015. “Cheerleader” was one of the “songs of summer” that year (according to some program I heard on NPR). That was the year we traveled to Europe as a family, and my youngest daughter and I went early for a week together in Brittany, France (I just sliced about this briefly here). It was, hands down, one of the best experiences of my life.

So, with that summer’s soundtrack playing, I stopped cleaning (d&*!) and scrolled through my pictures on a trip down memory lane. As I looked through the photos, I slipped into a Breton reverie of tooling around in our rented Peugeot, listening to the radio (“Cheerleader” played a lot!), reading guide books together, planning our day’s adventures, exploring, cooking dinner together at night, chatting about the day, reviewing our photos, walking on the beach… The best of times.

The final notes  of “Cheerleader” blasted out and with a jolt, I returned to the snowy reality of 2018 and my messy house. With no hesitation, I hit replay.

Three or four times.

Note: I was going to attach a link to the song. It’s fun and catchy but then I read the lyrics. Oops. Still, it takes me back. 

Our rental in Lechiagat, France

March 2018 SOLC–Day 13
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

Struggling for a post today, I decided to revisit the draft file on my blog. I have over 100 drafts in that file. It’s a hodgepodge of quick thoughts, rough drafts, photographs and half-baked ideas–sort of a virtual notebook. Like my notebooks, this file is a great place to return to and mine for ideas. This morning, I came across a poem I’d started writing several months ago. For whatever reason, it caught my fancy and I tinkered with it a bit. With a winter storm threatening, autumn posts don’t seem particularly appropriate, but it’s what I’ve got today!

Autumn Blossoms

Blossoms transform
in late autumn
into subtle shades
and shapes
festive tousled cotton tops
bob above the dimming grass
fading blooms sigh
against rough barn shingles
and the low-lying sun
slants through antique glass
to cast wavering shadows
of late gathered blossoms
on the hallway wall

M. Hogan (c) 2018

March 2018 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

Scene 1

Setting: The family room of an old farmhouse in rural Maine. Under a row of windows is a long butcher block table with two chairs. It is piled high with stacks of papers, books, a journal, and a ukulele.  Pens and pencils poke out of an empty ceramic pot next to a dying aloe plant. A large cup of coffee sits next to an open laptop computer.  Under the table a variety of totes bulge with more books and papers. NPR radio broadcasts murmur in the background and the air is filled with the scent of good intentions.

Time: early on a Sunday morning

My Better Self (hereafter designated as BS):”No, Molly, you can not read another blog post. You have to start doing some school work!”

Me: (defiantly) “It’s Sunday and it’s not even 8 am yet. I can read and comment on a few more slices.”

BS: (slowly)”Well, okay. I guess you can read for a little longer.”

Me: (smiling)

BS: (decisively) BUT…only 3 more posts and you’re not allowed to click on any links.”

Me: (no longer smiling) “What!? Only 3? No links?” Grumble. Mutter. Grumble. “Fine.”

BS:”Ok, now set a timer.”

Me:”A timer?”

BS: “Yes, you need a timer or you’ll never stop. You can read and comment on three blogs, but you have to be finished in 10 minutes and start your school work.”

Me:”What! I don’t need a timer. I already agreed to only read three.”

BS: “You. Need. A. Timer. And…when you finish reading, you can’t start writing.”

Me: Gasp! “But what if I ‘m inspired? What if someone gives me a really good idea for a slice?”

BS: “No.”

Me: “But”

BS: (rudely interrupting) “NO! Jot down a note. Work for at least a solid hour, then you can take a 10 minute break.”

Me: (indignantly) “You are stifling my creativity.”

BS: “No, I’m saving your job…and your sanity…and you’ll thank me later.”

Me: Heavy sigh “Fine.” (Clicking on a link to open a slice.)

BS: “Timer?”

Me: “OKAY! OKAY!”

March 2018 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

I just finished reading a slice from Purviben Trivedi-Ziemba that shared a couple of student writing challenges. I particularly liked the sound of the 5 sentence challenge. In this challenge a photo prompt is provided and students are invited to write 5 sentences about it. It’s sort of a prose twist on Laura Purdie Salas’s 15 Words or Less poetry photo prompt, and it sounded like a great slice idea to me.

I’ve been feeling nostalgic lately and have been reminiscing about our family trip to Europe almost three years ago. In particular, my thoughts have often turned toward the week that my youngest daughter and I spent together exploring Brittany, France before the rest of the family arrived. One of the highlights of that time was a visit to Locronan.  I’ve written about it before (here) but thought I’d pull a picture and try for a five sentence version. (I ended up with 6 sentences, but the last one is only one word, so it barely counts, right?)

Locronan, France, 2015

If there is magic in this world, it pulses through the stones of Brittany.  Locronan is an exquisite Breton town shrouded in the mists of time, a place that somehow transcends its physical presence. Once upon a time on a summer morning long ago, my daughter and I walked the streets together, transported. Stone cathedral towers rose magically from the mist, and around each corner, more wonders awaited– cobbled squares, an ancient chapel by a moss-covered spring, and everywhere, glorious bursts of blossom against the weathered gray stone. Today I remember that day with her, that week with her, and it seems similarly lost in time, yet preserved in all its wonder. Magical.

March 2018 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

The storm was tapering down and we were both busy, shoveling paths through the freshly fallen foot of snow. It clung to my shovel and formed irregular clumps as I hefted it off the path. Not much fun to shovel, but perfect packing snow.

“Let’s make a snowman,” I called to my husband across the yard.

“A snowman?” he asked and kept on shoveling the walk.

“Yeah,” I said, “It’ll be fun! It can greet people when they come up the driveway.” I finished my last few swipes with the shovel, put it down,  and moved to a smooth area of snow-covered lawn.

“Well, I’m going to do it!” I announced.

I looked at the snow consideringly. Hmmmm…First step, make a snowball. Ok. I’ve got that. Next, start rolling it through the snow. I knew how to do this! I began with great enthusiasm, rolling my ball over and over through the snow. After several minutes I stopped. Hmmm… What was I doing wrong?

“Hey,” I called to Kurt, “This is harder than I remember.” I leaned over, examining my pathetic, lopsided not-much-bigger-than-when-I-started snowball.

“What’s hard about making a snowman?” he asked, laughing.

“I don’t know, but my snowball’s not getting much bigger. I remember this as being much easier.” I looked at my pitiful effort in disgust. The small ball lay there amidst the chaos of tracks crisscrossing the once pristine lawn.

“Maybe it’s something to do with the snow or maybe I’m forgetting something, ” I said. “Shouldn’t this be like riding a bike?”

A snowball thwacked me in the butt. “Jerk,” I called, without looking up. “Come help!”

After a minute Kurt swaggered over to take over the rolling. After a few minutes, with much less swagger, he looked askance at his pathetic, lopsided not-much-bigger-than-when-he-started snowball. He hadn’t had much more success than I, but he now had a snowball imprint on his butt, too. (I guess I hadn’t forgotten how to do that!)

Eventually, we figured it out. More or less.

And guess what? It was fun!

March 2018 SOLC–Day 9
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’s post is a twofer–a dual post for Slice of Life and the Poetry Friday Roundup.  So, in that spirit of two for one, I’m sharing two poems that I wrote this week.

This first poem was in response to Laura Purdie Salas’s timely 15 Words or Less Poem weekly photo prompt. (Luckily, my fears appear to be unfounded.)

Photo credit to Laura Purdie Salas

I Spy

Pinkish eye
far from dry
Dusting of crusting
Disgusting!

I fear my plight is
conjunctivitis

M. Hogan (c) 2018

And then there was this poetic moment a week or so ago.

At dusk
I watched a fox
slip through tree shadows
sure-footed in the snow
his tail a crimson comet
in the fading light
a chicken carcass
heavy in his jaws

M. Hogan (c) 2018

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by the kind and talented Michelle H. Barnes at her splendoriferous blog, Today’s Little Ditty. Her blog today is overflowing with shared advice from poets about incorporating poetry in the classroom and engaging students with poetry in meaningful ways. Wow! What a resource! I will be revisiting again and again and again…

March 2018 SOLC–Day 8
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

Have you noticed the pattern? Five or six days out there’s a fair amount of snow forecast. Everyone perks up at school, like dogs scenting squirrels. Snow day!?! Then, over the next few days, the forecasted snowfall totals move up and down, until finally the chance of snow evaporates… Until it reappears a few days later, about five days out.

Random pattern? I don’t think so! No, I’m pretty convinced that there’s a sadist who works in the weather department. I even think he may have been the one to come up with the idea of publishing a 10-day extended forecast. It gives him more range for his evil.

Here’s how I think it goes. At about 5 or 6 days out in winter, he plants the first seed. Rubbing his hands gleefully together, he slips in a forecast for snow, maybe 5-8 inches. I can just imagine the malicious gleam in his eye. Throughout the next few days, he manipulates that. A few inches up, a few inches down. He gets his thrills imagining teacher conversations. He  may even use his hands as puppets and speak his imagined dialogues aloud.

Hand one, falsetto: “Oh, do you think there’ll be a snow day next Tuesday?”

Hand two,  whiney falsetto: “It was 5-8 inches yesterday. Now it’s down to 3-5. I just don’t know…”

Hand one, despairingly: “Oh, nooooooooo!”

As the days pass, he plans and manipulates. He threads in just enough uncertainty to spice things up. “A slight change in the forecasted path could affect these totals…” or “There’s some disagreement among weather models…” 

Finally, one or two days ahead, he switches the forecast to 1-3 inches, or even to the dreaded < 1 inch, plummeting teacher hopes and dreams. When I see that forecast change, I swear I can hear maniacal laughter in the background.

“Bwahhh hah hah!!!”

But, not today. Today, I imagine the weather sadist sulking amidst his computers and weather reports, wringing his hands while teachers rejoice. For today is a 100% full fledged snow day!

March 2018 SOLC–Day 7
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’m a huge fan of Michelle H. Barnes’ blog, Today’s Little Ditty. Her poetry is inspiring and her monthly author interviews are always engaging, amazingly informative and well crafted. At the end of her interviews, she invites authors to post a poem challenge for that month. Last month J. Patrick Lewis and Jane Yolen’s challenge was to write funny or clever epitaphs (here). This month Michelle interviewed Nikki Grimes (here), who challenged readers to use a line from one of the poems in the piece to write a golden shovel poem. This was just the push I needed, as I’ve been wanting to try a golden shovel poem for a while. (If you’re unfamiliar with the format, you can read a stellar explanation from Ms. Grimes at the end of the interview. Alternatively, if you just read the poems below, I think you’ll be able to figure it out.)

I took the line “a poem can split your skin” and laid it out on the righthand margin of my writer’s notebook. Then I got started. It was a very interesting process, almost like working backwards. Having your line breaks already in place, really impacts your piece, and creating a poem that doesn’t sound forced or contrived to fit this format is quite challenging.  Here’s my first effort:

The Power of a Poem

Like a tree root surging up through a
patch of asphalt, a poem
may persist until it cracks open your ribs. It can
expose your heart and split
your chest into sinew, bone, and skin

M. Hogan (c) 2018

“Truth by Tyrone Bittings” © Nikki Grimes, 2018
from BETWEEN THE LINES (Nancy Paulsen Books)

Then, I tried out another golden shovel using this line: “to strap on your own power”

Live!

This is your one life to
live. Strap
yourself in, hold on
tight and let yourself fly! Grow your
wildest wishes, create your own
wonderland, unleash your power!

M. Hogan (c) 2018

“Truth by Tyrone Bittings” © Nikki Grimes, 2018
from BETWEEN THE LINES (Nancy Paulsen Books)

I haven’t written much poetry since participating almost daily in Laura Shovan’s Ekphrastic Poetry Project last month. It felt good to get back into it and to attempt a new form.  On-line challenges like that project, the weekly 15 Words or Less prompt (Thanks, Laura Purdie Salas!), the Slice of Life and the monthly Ditty challenge really motivate me to write regularly and to stretch my writing muscles into new territories. I so appreciate the creativity and generosity of the involved authors.

March 2018 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

On lunch duty Friday, I was racing around the cafeteria, encouraging students to finish up lunch and keeping a loose lid on the bubbling chaos.

“Hey, Mrs. Hogan. Do you want to hear a joke?” B. called out as I rushed by him, bee-lining toward a rambunctious table.

Putting on the brakes, mentally and physically, I took a deep breath and responded,  “Sure, B.” Then, remembering my OLW for the year (pause), I took another breath and actually sat down on the stool next to him. 

“Who’s the best animal at playing baseball?” he asked me.

I thought for a moment. “Ugh, I should know this one, but I can’t think of it,” I said. “I give up. Who is the best animal at playing baseball?”

“A bat!” he crowed, eyes lit with laughter. “You know, like a baseball bat and a bat bat.”

“Oh, that’s right,” I said, smiling. “That one’s a classic! Do you have another one?”

He grinned at me. “Why don’t you want to play games with jungle cats?”

“Wait! I think I know this one,” I said. He graciously gave me some think time. All around us children chatted and laughed and knives and forks clattered on trays. Finally, I suggested, “Because they’re always lion?”

“No! Because they’re cheetahs!” he said.

We both laughed.

“Thanks, B.” I said, but I didn’t immediately get up to rush away. I just sat by him for a few minutes longer, enjoying the moment, pausing in the midst of the day.

March 2018 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.
twowritingteachers.org

Andrew Wyeth, Wind from the Sea, 1947

Yesterday I wrote a slice about a small moment in the local post office in which an impromptu discussion of all things Andrew Wyeth was sparked by a sheet of stamps featuring his paintings. As I looked up an image of “Teel’s Island” to add to that post, I took some time to scroll through images of other Wyeth paintings. I was struck by how many of them captured the intimacy of a setting or a moment but were rich with deeper layered meaning. There is such a sense of story and mood in his work. Suddenly it struck me: If Andrew Wyeth had been a writer, he’d have been a Slicer!

That thought was enough to send me down a rabbit hole. I started reading a bit more about Wyeth and everything I read confirmed this thought. For example, Wyeth himself said, “I paint my life.” Change “paint” to “write” and you’re slicing! He focused on the land, people and objects around him, both in Maine and in Pennsylvania. His focus on rendering these everyday scenes with exquisite detail reminds me of the best small moment stories– Both recognize the potential of a moment in time and then carefully craft a piece that captures and transcends that moment. Wyeth’s work is imbued with emotional resonance. It pulls me in.

Andrew Wyeth, Alvaro and Christina, 1968

Andrew Wyeth, Teel’s Island, 1954

Interestingly, even with his focus on everyday objects, realistically portrayed, Wyeth considered himself an abstractionist rather than a realist.

“My people, my objects breathe in a different way: There’s another core–an excitement that’s definitely abstract. My God, when you really begin to peer into something, a simple object, and realize the profound meaning of that thing- if you have an emotion about it, there’s no end.”

That says it all, right?

And then in one of those wonderful serendipitous moments, while I was reading about Wyeth, I stumbled upon the fact that there was an ongoing exhibit of his drawings at the Farnsworth Museum in Rockland, Maine. Quickly I checked the exhibit dates: Opened September 15, 2017. Closing Sunday, March 20th.

So, guess where I went yesterday!