SOLC Day 21: Writing Leaves its Mark

March 2026 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

My afternoon Writing Club was gathered around the circular table in my classroom.

“My finger hurts here when I write,” L. said, pointing to a red spot on the inside of her middle finger. 

“Oh,” I said, “that’s where you get a writer’s bump.”

I hold up my hand in front of her, pointing to the distinct callous on the inside of my middle finger.

“Wow!” she said, “Yours is really big!”

“Yup. And look, my middle finger is bent, too. I think it’s from the steady pressure of years of writing.” 

She looked at my hand and then held up her own hand, spreading her fingers apart slightly. “Mine isn’t bent,” she said. 

“Not yet,” I said, “but I’ve been writing for a lot more years than you.”

“How old are you?” she asks, tilting her head and scanning me.

“59.”

“Oh, I was two years off. I thought you were 61.”

“That’s close,” I said, sighing inwardly.

“Yeah,” she continued, “I didn’t think you were old old, but,” she gestured casually toward my hair, “you do have all that grey.”

“I do,” I confirmed. 

Then we both went back to our writing.

Later on, I was thinking about my hand, my writer’s bump, and that bent finger. I like that there’s a physical manifestation of all my years of writing. It’s kind of like the years have done with the greying of my hair. There’s proof that the years have been passing and that I’ve been changing. Years and years of writing have made an imprint on me in more ways than one.

SOLC Day 20: Cootie Catcher

March 2026 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

C. bounced up to me first thing this morning, a smile spread across her face. She thrust her hands in front of her.

“Mrs. Hogan, pick a number!”

I looked down to see a cootie catcher, also known as a fortune teller. My smile widened.

“Oh! These are fun,” I said, “I made these when I was young, too!”

“Pick a number!” she said again, bouncing up and down.

“Okay! Okay!” I laughed. “I’ll go with…three.”

She worked the cootie catcher three times and then stopped.

“Ok, now choose a color.”

I carefully scanned my color choices, and after a long pause, I chose teal.

She took her hands out of the cootie catcher and carefully pulled back the flap to reveal:

“You reach your dreams!” she exclaimed happily.

“Oh!” I said. “That’s a great fortune to get, and a nice way to start the day.”

She bopped over to her seat, and I walked away feeling pretty good about that fortune–especially since the last two times I’d gotten a Chinese fortune cookie, my cookie had been empty. Seriously. No fortune. Twice.In.A.Row. I had felt like I was in a Twilight Zone episode. So, obviously, an optimistic fortune this morning really felt like a win.

It felt even better when C. later confided that one of the other fortunes stated, “You will be sucked into a black hole.”

Phew! Close call!

SOLC Day 19: A Bad Case of the “Can’t Help Its”

March 2026 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

I do NOT feel like writing. In fact, I feel a little bit like I want to stomp my feet on the ground and yell, “No! No! No!” Okay, maybe a lot bit. Really, I just 100% do not want to write. I’ve already tried to start at least three different slices. Write. Delete. Write. Delete. Write. Delete. I have plenty of ideas, but no interest in pursuing any of them right now. Or maybe I just don’t have the energy.

Okay, I say to myself, giving in, well then what do you want to do?

Honestly? I don’t even know. Maybe go to bed. But it’s 6:30, so that’s a bit extreme. Maybe read. But I just finished a book and even though I have two on deck, I don’t have the motivation to dig into something new.

I can’t get out of my own way tonight.

When my kids used to be all grumpy and out of sorts and there was no pleasing them, we used to say they had a bad case of the “can’t help its.” I’m pretty sure that describes me tonight as well. Thinking about this reminds me that we also used to say, “If they’re crabby, put them in water.”

Maybe I’ll take a bath.

SOLC Day 18: I may be losing it #truestory

March 2026 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 promised myself that I’m not going to write any more complaining posts about my school year. (Though I do think the tone sneaks through time and again…sorry!) So, Reader Beware! This one feels complaint-adjacent, but it’s what I’ve got this morning. #Truestory

I sit down at the table and pull my lunch out of my bag. First, a Tupperware dish filled with chopped fruit, next the small container of granola, and finally, a vanilla Greek yogurt. This is my work-day lunch every day. Seriously, I’ve been eating this for 113 days now. (Or 114? I’ve lost track!) Anyway, it’s healthy and easy. There’s no need to think about it in advance or to take a time-wasting trip to the microwave for any reheating. I appreciate the efficiency of it. 

I grasp the foil tab and pull the lid off the yogurt, watching the thick white surface appear. 

But wait…that looks a little off. 

Instead of the smooth creamy  surface I expected, this one looks sort of…lumpy? Curdled, maybe? (Can yogurt even be curdled? Isn’t it maybe already curdled? Where does Greek yogurt come from anyway? File that thought under “Things I think I used to know…” )

I lean closer and take a deep sniff. It smells fine.

I give it another concerned glance. It definitely looks different than usual.  

I check the date, wondering if somehow I’ve pulled a random yogurt from the dead zone at the back of the fridge.. April 16, 2026

Hmmmm… so it should be okay. I guess I’ll know it’s bad if it tastes funny. 

I dump the yogurt on my fruit and stir it in, then top the mixture with a generous sprinkle of granola. As I begin to tentatively dip my spoon in for a trial taste, I pause, my motion arrested by a sudden (somewhat unhinged?) thought:

Oh! If it’s off, you can get a mild case of food poisoning and not be able to come to school tomorrow!

I dig my spoon in and take a big bite. 

It tastes fine. 

Totally normal.

I’m not sure if I’m happy about that or a bit disappointed. 

SOLC Day 17: Foggy Commute

March 2026 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

I love reading Kim’s slices every morning. She lives on the west coast and thus posts after my early-to-bed bedtime. Her posts are always beautifully written and filled with all sorts of nature and book love, and classroom inspiration. Usually I read them after I’ve already sliced for the day, but this morning I was scraping the barrel for something to write, so I detoured.

This year I’ve found loads of ideas for slices, but then find myself not wanting to write about most of them. Too negative…too boring…too hard… I guess I’m perennially in search of the Goldilocks slice idea, the one that’s just right. Kim’s post this morning was about her foggy walk on the beach (here) . I’ve already written about a foggy visit to the marsh this month, but her post reminded me that I’d had a lovely fog-bound commute to work earlier this month that I hadn’t written about. For some reason Kim’s slice and thinking about the fog also reminded me of the beginning of “Mending Wall” by Robert Frost–“Something there is that doesn’t love a wall…” So, with a twist, that’s where I began.

Foggy Commute

Something there is within me that loves the fog
how it presses gently in from all sides
and ground oft-trod or traveled
leans into mystery
how trees emerge along the horizon
their branches entwined with low clouds
then fade and disappear
and even farmyard clutter
and early spring muck
take on a hue of beautiful
with edges smooth and indistinct
I travel over a bridge
and the river beneath
is but a memory

SOLC Day 16: Currently…

March 2026 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

I’m turning to a tried and true post format for this morning. Somehow the past few days, as full as they’ve been, have left me scrambling for what to write!

Currently, the sun is still sleeping. The birds are still sleeping. I’m drinking my coffee while the windows reflect my face back at me. I’m wondering why it is that I wake naturally at 3:30 or 4:00 am on weekend mornings, but on schooldays need to be detonated from sleep by my 4:30 am alarm. There is something inherently unfair about this.

Currently, my shoulders are taut and tense near my ears. I consciously relax them. Down. Down. Down.

Currently, I have just realized that taut and taught are homophones. This intrigues me. Can I do something with this in a poem? It also does not surprise me and feels sadly apt. Speaking of which…

Currently, I’m worrying about the coming day, about all the work I did not do this weekend. I’m yearning to be back in yesterday. To be holding my grandson in my arms. My hand tucked around his soft head. Cherishing. Protecting. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the soft, warm weight of his sleeping body against my shoulder…

Currently, this happy reverie is interrupted by the cat repetitively scratching at the door. She wants out. Again. If I ignore her, she’ll move into the next phase which consists of knocking things off the desk, off the windowsill, etc. It occurs to me that I’m much better trained than she is. It also occurs to me that I don’t like cats quite as much as I used to.

Currently, the wall clock issues a steady tick-tick-tick from where it hangs on the kitchen wall. It reminds me this is no leisurely morning. I’m already so behind. I halt my shoulders in their ascent and consciously relax them downward. Again. I know this won’t be the last time.

Currently, I decide enough is enough. This is going to be my slice for today and it’s time to publish it. I’m feeling a bit panicked about using this format so early in the month. What will be on hand when I dive into conference week? Or even this week as I tackle final grading and writing report card comments and whatever other drama heads my way?

Currently…
my shoulders are taut and tense near my ears. I consciously relax them. Down. Down. Down.

SOLC Day 15: Wordle Fun

March 2026 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 am a creature of habit and routine. I wake up, feed the cats, start my coffee and drink my orange juice while it brews. Soon, I’m sitting at my desk and writing. Every morning.

Eventually I yield to temptation and begin one of my favorite daily routines: playing NYT puzzle games. I always play Wordle first (I’m on a 214 day streak which adds a bit of stress to the fun!) and then share the results with two of my sisters. After that I’m onto Connections and then Spelling Bee, and now Crossplay, too. Wordle is my hands down favorite though. 

Although I am a creature of habit and routine, I begin with a different word each day. I choose any word that catches my fancy. Maybe it matches the mood. Maybe it matches the weather. Often it just pops into my head. I do try to choose a word that has two vowels and no repeated consonants. I love how the letters and letter combinations lead you to a solution. Yesterday, I started with the word “waist”, for no particular reason. Here were my guesses: 

Wordle guesses: waist, dream, alone, ankle

If you read my blog regularly, you know that after playing Wordle, I love to take all my gathered Wordle guesses and create a poem from them. I’ve shared many, many, many of these before. 

Here’s my untitled, kind of weird poem from today’s guesses:

The last of the sand
trickles through the waist
of the hourglass
My dream shifts toward waking
and I’m alone on the beach
the waves licking
at my ankles

If you’re a Wordle fan, I encourage you to give this a try.  It’s a lot of fun! 

SOLC Day 14 and PF: Chin Hair

March 2026 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 stepped toward the bathroom sink to wash my hands, glancing into the mirror.

Wait! What was that!?

I stopped in my tracks. Then I stepped closer to the mirror, tilting my head from side to side, peering closely.

Ack! Sure enough! There it was! Planted on my chin like some sort of renegade celebratory flag. A long thin chin hair!!! How had this one escaped my notice? How long had it been growing? Why had no one mentioned it!?

I grasped the offensive invader between my finger tips, and tugged. I felt a vicious satisfaction at the small pinch of pain as it yielded the field. Victory!

Just yesterday I’d commented on Amy’s blog (Writing With Abandon) that I could relate to her comment about chin hairs. I’d added that I’d recently written in my notebook, “I wish I had the tenacity of chin hair.” Because really, what is as tenacious as chin hair?

I remember a friend telling me quite a long time ago, “Once you hit 35, you’ll start growing hairs in all sorts of unusual places.”

I remember scoffing at the idea. Until I didn’t.

Now, I religiously check my chin each morning, searching out these villanous strands of keratin and removing them with grim satisfaction.

Thinking of all of this reminded me of a poem I wrote long ago, and I thought I’d resurrect it again–kind of like those chin hairs keep resurrecting! When I went searching for it, I found another one that I’d totally forgotten about. Who knew I was so inspired by chin hair? I’m sharing both because, clearly chin hair is worth writing about! lol


One of life’s pressing questions…

Who is more persistent:
The thick, black hair
reappearing
firmly rooted 
in the softening skin
on the left side of my chin
or I 
who wield
the tweezers
victoriously
again and again?

©Molly Hogan

The Battle

There once was a hair on my chin
undetected when first it grew in
I noticed it there
Adrift in the air
And plucked it with shame and chagrin.

I’ve heard in some far-away places
women cherish the hair on their faces
But I can’t sport a ‘stache
with elan or panache
I vow to remove any traces.

Another one grew on my cheek.
(It happened in less than a week!)
I pulled that one too
without great ado
But with a full bellicose shriek.

Each day my reflection as mirrored
Shows renegade hairs have appeared
My expression is grim
As I tweeze and I trim
Not resigned to displaying a beard.

My tweezers flash bright through the air
Extracting each invading hair
There is not a thing cute
’bout my face so hirsute
I battle with growing despair.

I continue the gods to implore
to vanquish these whiskers galore
They’re more apt to dispatch
A peach-fuzzy soul patch
I win battles but never the war.

Molly Hogan

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Linda Baie at  Teacher Dance.

SOLC Day 13: Baking

March 2026 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

Outside, the day is drawing to a close, shadows deepening, and the sun sinking slowly behind the trees. Inside, I pull the ingredients from the fridge and cupboard, and set them on the kitchen island. Butter, sugar, salt, flour, cinnamon, baking soda, baking powder, eggs, sour cream, chocolate. I set the oven to preheat and prepare a pan. Pulling the measuring spoons and cups from the drawer, I feel the day settle. The ever-present worries and stresses fade into the background.

Baking comforts me and connects me.

When I bake, I remember my mom and grandmother. I remember lavish baking sessions with childhood friends. I remember the bright sprinkle and sugar crystal abundance of holiday baking with my children. I think back to those years of early baking hours when I baked from home for a restaurant, and I remember the way-too-early-to-be-up pitter patter of little feet and my middle child, all sleepy-eyed and tousle-haired, joining me in the kitchen. I smile now, misty-eyed, remembering how she would climb on the step stool my husband made for her and contentedly watch me work. All these memories and more swirl about me.

I dump butter and sugar into the bowl of the mixer and turn it on. Its motor starts with a satisfying whirr. I watch the blade rotate and the two ingredients cream into a homogeneous mixture. I add the egg yolks and vanilla, and the batter turns to a deep yellow, testament to the gift of “home-grown” eggs from a friend.

I whisk dry ingredients together, sifting the clumps from the baking soda. Then I alternatively mix that and heaping spoonfuls of sour cream into the mixture. Next, I whip the egg whites to stiff peaks, small mountains of foam, and then fold them gently into the batter. I layer half the batter in the prepared pan then top it with clouds of cinnamon sugar and generous handfuls of chocolate chips. I repeat the process, then place the pan in the oven. After setting the timer, I clean up. There’s satisfaction here as well. Simple steps to create order from chaos.

Soon the air is rich with the scent of chocolate and cinnamon. My mind still lingers with memories.

Tonight, making this new-to-me coffee cake grounds me. When I bake I feel competent and capable. Even when working with a new recipe, I know I can bake. I have decades of experience. I speak the language, and my hands know what to do, moving smoothly and deftly. There is little ambiguity to baking, not too much decision making, but still, there’s room for improvisation. I know there’s science behind it all. I could research and learn about that, and I’d probably be a better baker for it. But I prefer to let the sheen of magic linger.

Tomorrow, I’ll bring this cake to school to share with colleagues at our Lattes and Lit group. We meet monthly to essentially buzz about books. There’s no required reading or assigned book. We just share what we’ve been enjoying, often bringing the books with us to loan out. I usually bring something I’ve baked, too. Making it is a gift to myself and sharing it is a gift to them.

Baking comforts me and connects me.

SOLC Day 12 Tongue Twister Poem

March 2026 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’ve been wanting to play more, to have a little more fun when I was writing. I’ve wanted to embrace the silly and surprising, and maybe work on creating more poems for kids. The other day I read something that led me to another site, where I clicked on a link and read something else, that made me do a google search that led me to yet another site, where I clicked another link and then eventually, somehow or other, I wound up at Kenn Nesbitt’s website. I think that was where I was meant to be all along.

What a treasure of a site this is! Kenn has all sorts of wonderful things on offer and after poking around a bit, I ended up reading a lesson on writing tongue twister poems. He suggested, “…using lots of words with “b” and “g” sounds. “You might write a poem about someone named “Gabby” who bought a “beagle” that “begged” for “bagels.” I stole the bagel idea and ran with it:

Bobby bought a bag of bagels
at the nearby bagel store
built a tower on his table
bagels bobbled, hit the floor

Bobby’s bungled bagel building
stopped his gobbling more and more
Bagels wiggled, bagels wobbled–
bagels boogied out the door

It’s certainly not perfect, but it was fun!