March 2019 SOLC–Day 16
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

As much as I was looking forward to the end of the week, I was dreading it as well. This will not be a weekend. It is already over-scheduled with school work (reading, scoring, writing comments, planning…), and I’ll be back at school on Monday having had no substantial time to refresh.

I also feel unhappy about the week behind me. As we all tried to adjust to the clock change, the trimester ground to a halt. We administered assessment after assessment. Everyone was tired and on top of it, I was stressed. That combination doesn’t lead to creative or patient teaching. Put simply, I haven’t been my best self.

Then, next week, we’re headed into state-mandated testing, so we’ve been prepping for that as well. I feel like a cog in a big ugly machine right now, running right over the children I’m supposed to be teaching, encouraging, supporting…bypassing their needs as I tend to the demands of the system.

At the end of the day Friday, I sat at my desk, discouraged, trying to find the energy to stuff everything I could possibly need into my bags. I contemplated the coming weekend, the past week, and the weeks to come. Every dormant herpes simplex cell in my body quivered at attention, happily feeding on the incoming stress, ready to blossom at the slightest encouragement. I had to “detox”, at least a little.

Finally, I picked up the phone.

“Hey, Kurt,” I said when he answered, “You know what I really want to do?”

“What?” he asked, somewhat hesitantly.

“I want to drive to Portland and go get a giant piece of cheese-dripping pizza at Slab. Maybe even two.”

He laughed. “You want to drive all the way to Portland to get a piece of pizza?” he asked.

“Yes!” I replied somewhat desperately, “A big cheesy piece of pizza! I need a break. If I go straight home I’m going to start writing or working, and I want to hang out with you. I really need to get away.” I paused, then continued, “Also, if I’m going to eat pizza, I want it to be really good pizza!”

After some discussion, Kurt, good guy that he is, agreed that, while pizza wouldn’t be his first choice of a meal if we were driving half an hour into the city, he was okay with it.

So, I packed up, hefted my bulging bags into the car, and drove home. Forty-five minutes later we were on our way.

We enjoyed ourselves.

The pizza was delicious.

And now it’s time to work.

March 2019 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

I pulled in the driveway almost 12 hours after I’d pulled out. It had been another long day in a string of long days. Kurt’s car wasn’t there, so I knew I’d just missed him and that he’d already headed out to a meeting.

I walked up the snowy path, laden with bags and the weight of multiple unscored assessments, unwritten report card comments, and incomplete teaching plans. Sigh. The work day wasn’t over yet.

Walking in the door, I immediately smelled something. Kurt must have cooked dinner for himself before heading out. We have very different dietary preferences, so now that the kids have flown the nest, we rarely eat the same thing. I wondered what he’d made, and what I was going to make for my dinner. If anything. Even thinking about making dinner felt like a big effort. Cereal, maybe?

“Oh, that smells like baked potato,” I said out loud, walking further into the house. Then I thought (or maybe said aloud ’cause who knows these days!), “Oh! Now I want a baked potato. That sounds sooo good. Ooooh!  And I’m going to steam up some broccoli, too.” I started to feel enthusiasm for my dinner plans, pedestrian though they were, and I could feel my mood shifting and my energy level rising.

I dumped my gear in the family room, then headed into the kitchen, ready to start cooking. I walked over to the stove to turn it on.

Wait….what’s that?

There on the stovetop waiting for me, was one perfectly beautiful and still warm baked potato. Next to it, in a pot, was some freshly steamed broccoli. I stood and stared. Then a smile spread across my face.

Mood shift complete.

My husband.

My hero.

March 2019 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

On a recent Friday we met the kindergartners in their classroom. The room was a buzz of activity. The little ones were working on lining up, each one clutching a piece of paper in his/her small hand. This was the day they were going to share their writing at the K-2 Assembly, and we had been invited to come along, to enjoy their final pieces and support them if necessary.

My fourth grade class has been reading with kindergarten buddies since early in the school year. Last month, the Kindergarten teacher and I decided to try having them write together. Both classes separately listened to a mentor text (Mel Evan’s the tiniest sound) and then came together to write their own response to the question “What is the tiniest sound?” The book is a lovely poetic piece, inspiring creative thought and interesting word choice. Fourth graders supported their buddies as they wrote, reminding them use their “sound power” to write down each sound they heard.

It was a delight to watch them work together. I saw one of my less-than-focused struggling readers try over and over to encourage her wiggly, wandering buddy.

“Ok, now say the word. Squeak. What sound do you hear at the beginning? S-s-s-s-s-squeak.”

She was determined and persistent, thoroughly engaged in this work with her small companion. He remained distracted, but she never gave up.

Then on Friday we walked into assembly and my fourth graders sat behind their buddies.

“I love this,” a teacher next to me stated. She gestured toward a kindergartner who was being quietly encouraged by his fourth grade partner to sit quietly. “He’s already been sitting for longer than he ever has at assembly!”

Soon the kindergartners were standing, facing the audience with my students beside them. Behind them, their responses were displayed on a large screen. Each child took the microphone, read his or her piece from their paper and then handed the microphone along. As they read, sometimes they hesitated. When necessary, my fourth graders bent down, encouraged and occasionally whispered the necessary words to them. Their support was perfect–subtle and positive.

“I just love this,” the teacher next to me commented again.

Me, too.

March 2019 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

Part 1: Yesterday’s post was called The Day I Didn’t See An Owl.

Part 2:  Ever since I didn’t see an owl, it seems like everyone else is seeing them. I’ve become convinced that if I just look hard enough, I’ll see one. So, I drive everywhere slightly erratically, peering into the trees, occasionally crossing the center line, but to no avail. There are no owls in sight. At least not for me.

Since the owl I didn’t see, Kurt has seen two or three more barred owls, and then last week, as he drove home, a horned owl swooped out of the night and landed on a snow bank by the road.

“I could see his yellow eyes!” he enthused.

Then, at morning meeting a student shared with the class, “You guys! It was so cool! There was a barred owl outside my window on Sunday. It stayed there for like an hour!”

On the regional birding site I follow on Facebook, people are posting pictures of barred owls daily. There have even been a couple of saw whet owls spotted.

Owl sightings are definitely up. At least for everyone except me.

Unfortunately, more of the story has emerged. Apparently, it’s been a very difficult year for owls to hunt. With all the back and forth freezing and thawing, the snowpack has become very dense. The owls can’t get through it to their preferred rodent diet. We’re seeing more of them because they’re starving, and they’re coming to scope out bird feeders and other likely hunting areas. People are now reporting finding dead or severely malnourished owls. They’re trying to figure out what to do to help, but there isn’t much. It breaks my heart.

This past weekend after looking at some recent owl-related posts, I said to Kurt, “You know, I almost don’t want to see an owl now. I’m afraid it would mean that it was starving.”

And then…

Yup.

You guessed it.

Really.

Sitting at the table that afternoon,  I glanced out the window, and there it was. A barred owl sitting in our birch tree above the bird feeders. Finally! After all my searching, it came straight to our house. And close, too! I couldn’t believe my eyes! I jumped up immediately, flapping wildly, barely able to speak in my excitement.

“An owl! It’s an owl! Kurt! There’s an owl! Kurt! Look! Right there in the tree! Oh my gosh! I can’t believe it!  Look! There it is! A barred owl!”

I fluttered about for a few minutes, then grabbed my camera and flew to the window to take a few photos. And then a few more. And maybe just a few more.

Then we stood by the window together watching it through the falling snow. It was a gorgeous bird.

Kurt called softly to it a few times in his best barred owl call, “Hoo hoo ho hooooooo.”

I crooned to it. “Oh, you’re so beautiful!” and other sweet nothings along that line. I admired its feathers, its beak and its haunting, soulful eyes.

“It looks pretty healthy. Don’t you think?” I asked Kurt, seeking reassurance. “It’s alert and active, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, “I think so. In that one picture on-line the owl looked sort of slumped over, like it had its chin, if owls had chins, on its chest.”

I looked again. Our owl was definitely upright. No slump in sight.

Throughout the day, I watched and wondered and worried. When I wasn’t perched by the window, I’d glance frequently to check if the owl was still there. It remained for several hours, departed, and then returned again. I was entranced.

The how-to-help-an-owl consensus on-line was to sprinkle bird seed on the ground to attract rodents. Even though “our” owl looked fine, I determined to do my best. As night approached and the owl remained, I scattered generous handfuls of seed under the feeder. I never thought I’d be trying to attract rodents to my yard, but I guess I’ll do just about anything for an owl.

Shortly after nightfall, the owl left. I didn’t see it fly away. It was simply gone when I looked. It had left as silently as it arrived. There’s a spot in the birch tree that looks bare now. Owl shaped.

I’m hopeful that our owl was fine, and that the snow will soon thaw enough to improve its hunting. Its whole visit seems like a dream now, even though I have the pictures to prove it. But it’s true. I finally saw an owl.

March 2019 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

Part One: It seems like it all started the day the muffler and a few related and assumably important pipes yielded their grip on the underside of my car, and hung there partially attached…dragging…  I won’t get into too much detail. Let’s just say that we rapidly jettisoned our plan for a hike, and I was driving  home cautiously, accompanied by a metallic soundtrack and white knuckles. Suddenly…

“There’s an owl!” Kurt exclaimed and pointed. “I think it’s a barred owl.”

Proof of an early love of owls—my slightly damaged elementary school art

“What? Where!?” I demanded, looking wildly about me.

I love owls. Love, love, love them! We hear them frequently, but I’ve never seen one in the wild, and I’ve been dying to. 

I braked…but slowly, ever mindful of the tenuous grip my muffler had on the car, and looked for somewhere to pull over.

“I can’t believe you aren’t braking harder,” he said.

“I’m afraid of losing the entire exhaust system!” I retorted, swiveling my head like, well, like an owl, desperate to catch a glimpse of one. Unfortunately, by then, I’d moved too far down the road, and it was nowhere in sight.

Pulled over on the side of the road, I had to decide what to do. Earlier, we’d realized that reversing would be the kiss of death for the muffler. Did I want to risk turning around somewhere, driving back and then having to do all that all over again, dragging the exhaust system the entire time? This was a tough decision!

Eventually, I decided that the conservative choice was the more responsible one. I continued forward, abandoning all hope of seeing the owl, and headed home at a snail’s pace. A loud snail’s pace. It probably seemed even slower (and maybe louder) for those in the car who had to listen to my constant laments.

“Ugh! I can’t believe I didn’t see it!”

“I really want to see an owl.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

As we got closer to home, I announced, “After we get home, I’m going back.” Then I quizzed Kurt, “Where exactly was the owl? How far back from the main road? On the left or right? High in the tree or low in the tree?”

He did his best to answer my questions, and as soon as I parked the injured car in the driveway, I raced over to our other car.

“Are you really going to drive all the way back there?” Kurt asked.

“Yes!” I said, clambering into the car. “You never know! It might still be there!”

He shook his head. I slammed the door, started the car, and careened out of the driveway to drive the ten or fifteen minutes back to the approximate location of the owl sighting. Not quite at a snail’s pace this time.

Arriving in the general vicinity, I drove back and forth down the long country road. I drove slowly, searching through the trees, trying to locate the owl. Time and again, I pulled over to let other cars pass. I looked high and low, but ultimately, I had no luck.  No owl. After about twenty to thirty minutes, I gave up. I headed home, scanning trees along the way.

I’d love to be able to write that that’s when I saw the owl–that after giving up, I finally saw one. It would make a great story, right? Happy ending and all. But sadly, that’s not what happened. I didn’t see an owl. Nary a one.

But, while I was disappointed, I was also glad that I’d made the effort. I may not have seen the owl, but at least I’d tried. And it’s awfully nice to know they’re out there. Maybe next time.

Stay tuned!

March 2019 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

In a burst of optimism (or insanity), after signing up for the 2019 SOL Challenge last month, I signed up for Laura Shovan’s March Poetry Challenge. This challenge posts daily photos of food as poetry prompts. Ideally, you respond each day in a private Facebook group. Yup. Do the math–Two daily challenges. With unusual foresight, I made it clear when joining the poetry group that my participation would be less than 100%. I just didn’t realize how much less! Sigh.

So, with the weekend and extra writing time ahead of me, I visited the Facebook site early Saturday morning. Instead of a collection of photos and poetry, I discovered a bit of a brouhaha. Yesterday’s beet photo and its accompanying comments/poems had gone missing! P.I. (Poetry Instigator) Laura Shovan was quickly on the job and got to the root of it all! She informed us that she’d inquired and that Facebook reported that the photo had been tagged as inappropriate. What?! Well, this is clearly a compliment to the photographer!

Kudos to Jone McCulloch for her sensuous beet photo

The incident has been resolved and the photo restored, but the whole thing tickled my funny bone. I kept having random odd beet-thoughts popping into my mind.

Beets look innocent…until they’re not.

Brazen crimson beets! The color should have warned us…as damning as the letter “A” in the vegetable world. (And what does this say about radishes?)

Tubers…just say it. It even sounds inappropriate.

Beets…clearly at the root of all our problems.

Ultimately after endlessly amusing myself, I wrote this limerick:

With Thanks to Facebook for their Vigilance

The beets always look so suspicious
their intent is clearly malicious
their raw earthy flavor
too tempting to savor
Thank heavens we’re saved from beet dishes!

©Molly Hogan, 2019

March 2019 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

I am most decidedly a lark. I typically rise before the sun, and I frequently venture outside to observe as dawn unfolds and the world awakens. I’ve written many slices and poems about mornings and how they move and energize me.  My writing energy is also strongest in the morning and most days, I write morning pages. During this month, I’m often drafting slices and commenting before 5 am.

Last night after some last minute evening reading and commenting, I was ready for bed and my book. But as I walked upstairs, I realized that I wanted to write a bit more. This is highly unusual for me, but I’d just read and thoroughly enjoyed Sarah DiFazio’s post of haikus about her day. I grabbed a small notebook and pushed my bedtime reading material to one side. Maybe I’d try to capture my day in haikus.

internal alarm
malfunctions at two a.m.
a long day begins

my pen plucks ideas
from the mists of dreams
morning pages

bone deep cold
frigid river exhales mist
pictures at dawn

PD work with colleagues
learning intentions and success criteria
overflow haiku boundaries

sleep’s siren song
lures me beneath blankets
two hour nap

nap-fogged brain
stumbles through the evening
red wine helps

inspiration strikes
I settle into bed
compose haiku

Thanks again to Sarah DiFazio for the inspiration! If you haven’t yet, check out her blog. She’s a wonderful writer and perhaps you’ll be inspired as well!

March 2019 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

One afternoon recently,  bundled up in down, I took a late afternoon walk. My eye was caught by the weedy stems poking through the pale, stale snow. Though the fragile petals had long ago faded and dispersed, the architecture of the blossoms remained behind.  In some spots these stalks are plentiful, like a winter garden–monochromatic, but beautiful in their spare lines. Singly or in smaller clusters, they are stark and simple, yet captivating. I find myself drawn to them, these vestiges of spring and summer, so valiant and resilient. They are merely echoes of their former vibrant selves, yet somehow they are triumphant. 

These days everything feels like a metaphor for aging.