When it’s ten degrees outside, your recreational options are somewhat limited. Facing yet another inside day watching the cold deepen its grip, my daughter and I decided to shake things up and take a trip to the Portland Museum of Art. After donning our tundra gear and warming up the car seats, off we went.

As we drove along the coast, we watched with despair as the temperature decreased–degree by degree– until it hovered at 5˚ F. We glanced at each other–Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea! Luck was with us, however, and we were able to park around the corner from the museum entrance. Unfortunately, during our drive the cold had been enhanced by the onset of stinging snow flurries and a brisk biting wind. Taking a deep breath before exiting the car, we tucked our heads into our winter layers, and plodded up the slick city sidewalks and at last, with a sigh of relief, into the welcoming vestibule of the museum. Ahhhh….warmth, color, and the buzz of quiet conversation.

Once inside, we checked our winter gear and then wandered through the galleries, speaking in hushed tones, admiring some works, questioning the artistic designation of others.

“So, ookkkaayyyy….what makes something art, anyway?” we wondered. (Sometimes it does seem a bit arbitrary.)

Woman Flying, K. Bradford

After a delightfully companionable time viewing Renoirs, and Ipcars, and Wyeths (oh my!), we entered The McLellan House, an 1801 federal mansion that forms the rear portion of the museum. (Take a look at the amazing flying staircase!)

Photo credit to Barry and Cindy Carey at http://www.svbeatitude.com/

We walked up to the second floor, and a sign outside one of the rooms caught our attention: “The Study: Give what you can. Take what you need.”

“What do you think that means?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Lyddie responded. “Let’s check it out.”

So we wandered inside to find this sign, prominently displayed above the mantel:

There were three acrylic boxes by the large windows, each clearly labeled: Letters about…Hope, Strength and Beauty. Each box was brimming with colorful collections of paper. We were immediately captivated, and shuffled through the boxes, pulling out random letters to read aloud to each other. “Listen to this one.” or “Oh, this one’s amazing!” After a few minutes we began to read silently. Long minutes passed unnoticed. As I read letter after letter, I was deeply moved by the sincerity and genuine kindness expressed within them.

After awhile, we put down the letters and moved to the center of the room. There was a cluster of chairs and a table with a pile of colored paper, assorted pencils, and an invitation to participate. I imagined hundreds of people over the course of weeks pausing in this room, taking time out of their day to read, to think and then to write words of encouragement to total strangers. Families sitting down together to write. Random individuals sitting next to each other writing. Lyddie and I sat and thought. Then we wrote our own words of encouragement to add to the boxes. As we left the room, we addressed envelopes to have letters sent to us at the end of the installation.

This has been a dark, negative year and this roomful of letters offered an unexpected and thoroughly appreciated ray of light.  As I read some of the letters and then added my own, I felt my optimism rekindled. There is kindness in the world. People are good and caring. We can reach out, connect and help each other. We do have empathy. These thoughts tumbled through my mind, lifting my spirits. After finishing our contributions, we left the room regretfully, wishing we could stay and read each and every letter.

Back in the entryway, we retrieved our coats and layers and bundled up. The snow continued to spit outside and day was already fading to night. As we opened the doors, the arctic chill swirled around us once again, but we had been reminded: There is powerful positive energy in the world. During these upcoming dark winter days, we knew we could anticipate the arrival of a brightly colored letter, written by a stranger, offering heartfelt words of encouragement. Buoyed by this thought and the memories of those letters we had read and written, we stepped out into the cold. Somehow, it didn’t seem quite as bad as it had before.

What will this New Year bring? I’m a big fan of fresh starts, clean slates, etc., and the advent of the new year typically fills me with optimism. Unfortunately, after 2017, positive outlooks are a scarce commodity around my house. It feels like my worst expectations are continually exceeded. Put simply, it’s hard to be upbeat.

In a deliberate move to focus on the positive, I’ve been semi-participating in a haiku challenge this month (#haikuforhealing). Often I have used a photograph as inspiration. This picture, taken early this morning in Portland, sparked two differing perspectives on the arrival of the New Year.

Through twists of sea mist
spectral sentinel cautions
hazards lie ahead

Molly Hogan (c) 2017

As the new year dawns
from swirling mist emerges
a beacon of light

Molly Hogan (c) 2017

Wishing you and yours peace and joy in 2018.

We spent Christmas in Philadelphia, visiting our oldest daughter in her recently adopted city. We had a wonderful time, but it reaffirmed for me how much of a country girl I have become, and how far away Philadelphia (and thus my daughter) is from Maine.

The city hustle bustles
outside my rented window
Still my eye is drawn
to the silhouetted trees
backlit by the advent of dawn

M. Hogan (c) 2017

Our last morning arrived and it was time to leave–happy to head back to our country home after a dose of city, but so sad to say goodbye.

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup, the last of 2017!, is hosted by Heidi Mordhorst at My Juicy Little Universe who is celebrating trees today. Make sure to stop on by and end your year with some poetry.

Hectic week at school
Taking comfort in haiku
Sharing a few here

A single jingle
An eruption of feathers
A cat slinks away

M. Hogan (c) 2017

Thanks again to Mary Lee Hahn for #haikuforhealing. It’s been a fun (and sane) part of my December. Make sure to stop by and visit this week’s Poetry Friday Roundup at Buffy Silverman’s blog, Buffy’s Blog. Wishing everyone a wonderful holiday season with plenty of time to enjoy family, friends, and writing!

5 pm Monday night. I just got home.

Before that I stopped at our neighborhood mechanic to see if the loud noise from beneath my car was an exhaust leak (meaning my car was safe to drive ’til he could repair it on Wednesday) or if it was some other more ominous and potentially deadly problem.

“That’s a good leak!” he exclaimed cheerfully, as he revved the car and the air around us vibrated and filled with exhaust fumes.

So I’ll crack the windows until Wed. and prepare to be embarrassed driving tomorrow. (Note to self—avoid drive-throughs.)

Before that I was driving home listening to Trevor Noah’s “Born a Crime” on audiotape, admiring the beautiful snow fall, and worrying about the jet engine rumbling beneath my car. The latter was my biggest concern until I rounded a treacherous downhill curve and started skidding. Turn into the skid! I kept thinking. TURN INTO THE SKID! But it isn’t as easy as it sounds, especially on a tight curve. My hands had a death grip on the steering wheel.  turnintotheskidturnintotheskidturnintotheskid!!!! Crap! This isn’t working!

Two words: Epic failure! I swerved all over the road, gathering speed until somehow, finally, I came to a stop off the side of the road, facing the opposite way I’d been heading. Whoa! After a moment of stunned silence, I realized that everything was actually okay.  Thankfully, there was just enough snow to stop me from hitting the guardrail and I didn’t damage the car. Also, thank God there was no one coming the other way when I was spinning out of control.

After a few moments to gather myself, I tried to pull back onto the road. The car moved a few inches forward, then the fun whirring tire thing happened. Darn. I tried again. No luck going forward. Eventually, I managed to reverse off the shoulder,shaking hands and all, turned around, and headed to the mechanic’s. Well, that’s one way to put an exhaust issue into perspective!

Before that I was finishing the school day. “I hope the roads aren’t too bad!” I said to a colleague as she headed out. (File this under famous almost-last words!)

Before that I was remembering why it’s not a good idea to have school the week before Christmas. I remembered this All. Day. Long.

Before that I got to school, slightly stressed, partially deaf, but relieved to have arrived with myself and my car in one piece. I delivered my first Secret Santa gift (Fun!) and left a slightly desperate SOS phone message for my trusty neighborhood mechanic.

Before that I drove to school. More than halfway there, I turned to head up the big hill. “BRRrruuummmmm!”

I jerked my head to look behind me. What was that?! Was there a motorcycle I hadn’t seen?  Perhaps a whole gang of them? Nope. Not a car in sight. That’s odd… I accelerated to move up the hill. 

“BBRRRUUUUUUMMMMMM!”

Oh, %$#! That’s my car. The one I’m supposed to drive to Philadelphia on Friday. Should I pull over? I don’t have time to pull over! I need to get to school. Well, the gauges are fine, there are no lights flashing and there’s no odd shuddering or vibrating. I’m crossing my fingers and going for it!

Before that I left home thinking this was going to be the one “normal” day of the week! Ha! Ha!

It’s been a patchwork sort of week. I’ve been busy with pieces of this and that and trying to create an organized and pleasing whole. It hasn’t always worked, and writing has taken a back seat to the general chaos.

As I tried to gather my thoughts and consider what I might share today, I realized that my writing this week has been inspired entirely by the on-line community. Thanks to Mary Lee Hahn and her #haikuforhealing and Laura Purdie Salas’s 15 Words or Less weekly poetry challenge for nudging me to write something this week. Also, a big thank you to Carol Varsalona for introducing me to PicMonkey and for an e-mail chock-full of helpful tips. Finally, thanks to all of you. I’m so grateful to be a part of this community.

Here are a few bits and pieces from the week:

Photo by L. P. Salas

Electrical impulses
crackle in spectral colors
dendritic lightning
Birth of an idea

M.  Hogan (c) 2017

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by the amazing Diane Mayr at one of her blogs, Random Noodling. Be sure to stop by and enjoy some poetry!

I was determined that this year I’d do it. I’d write a haiku each day to participate in Mary Lee Hahn’s daily haiku in December challenge ( #haikuforhealing). Well, that hasn’t quite happened.  But, I have been writing more haiku, and the challenge has made me more attuned to the nuances of small moments ripe with haiku potential. Here are a few such moments and the resulting haiku.

There’s something otherworldly about foggy mornings. I took this photo earlier this fall at a local cemetery. It’s one that’s lingered with me. I’m still fiddling with the haiku, but the challenge inspired me to practice using picmonkey to combine poetry and images.

I drive to work early each day transfixed by the changing colors in the sky.  Dramatic red-tinged dawns have been common recently. On one morning a single white birch along the roadside glowed pink, reflecting the sunrise. Simply beautiful.

A slender white birch
blushes with the rising sun
a dawn-lit taper

(c) M. Hogan

As I opened up the car door when I arrived at school yesterday, I heard the strident and insistent calls of crows. Looking up I was lucky enough to witness some avian drama in the snow-covered pine trees.

Five raucous crows surge
target white-breasted raptor
Feathered fusillade

(c) M. Hogan

At home today, the call came early. No school. The wood stove is clicking and pulsing, my mug is filled with coffee, the snow is falling. All is well.

Amber flames flicker
Outside snowflakes swirl and dance
If I could, I’d purr

(c) M. Hogan

I just took a big sip of wine. (Idle question—when does a big sip become a gulp?) I’m hoping the taste of wine (or maybe the alcohol content) will wash away the memory of this afternoon’s Third and Fourth Grade Assembly. (Not so idle question—do I have another bottle? Also, should that be capitalized?) In the spirit of text structure (just finishing our nonfiction writing unit!), I thought I’d try presenting my slice in a problem/solution structure.

Problem: A student took offense when another classmate noticed that he wasn’t joining the line and commented on it. He turned around and stomped away as we walked into the cafeteria.
Solution: Sadly, cloning hasn’t proven a viable option yet, so I’ll go with Plan B–Ask the Vice Principal to go find him and bring him to Assembly. (Successful!)

Problem: E. approaches me as we’re sitting down and whispers, “Mrs. Hogan, X. just drew a football on the wall in the hallway on the way to assembly. I’m not sure what he used.”
Solution: Thank E. Note to self: Look for graffiti footballs on the way back to the classroom. (Found said football later. It seems to have been “drawn” lightly (maybe even with an eraser?) and looks like it will be easy to remove. Another note to self—mention this to the Vice Principal and make sure to have X clean that up tomorrow.)

Problem: P,D, and Q immediately start talking and raising a ruckus when they sit down.
Solution: Have D move to sit at the end of the line. (Mixed success. Overall D does relatively well there, but in the middle of Assembly the Principal has to approach him and remind him to be at zero volume and not repeatedly throw small objects into the air and catch them. P and Q have less success.)

Problem: As Assembly starts, Q (or was it P?) loudly emits gas. Starts to laugh and emits more. Bursts into hysterics, accompanied by P.
Solution: After giving them a minute or two to get over it (didn’t work), I give Q and P stern looks and a reminder to be quiet. (Totally unsuccessful—why I thought it would work, I can not say.)

Problem: Q and P pull their shirts halfway over their faces and continue to laugh loudly and whisper comments.
Solution: Move Q to the other side of me. (Partially successful–He argues about this but not too loudly and more or less remains there, only inching slightly toward P whenever I’m not looking.)

Problem: Q and P make faces around me and continue to encourage each other to laugh. I consider sending them to the office but realize that would probably be even more disruptive.
Solution: I wish I knew.

Problem: The Principal recognizes that students have been sitting a long time and encourages them to shake their shoulders and necks. X. really gets into this.
Solution: Remind X. that he’s done a really good job being a respectful audience member up to this point and that Assembly is almost over. (Totally unsuccessful–just keep reading.)
Note: Later I found out that while I had been up front presenting certificates “good” would not have been an appropriate adjective to describe X’s behavior.

Problem: P and Q continue to whisper and call out to each other.
Solution: I tell P to move to another location further down the class line. P balks but my mean teacher look must have been minimally effective and he finally scoots off smiling the whole way. (Successful!)

Problem: X decides to applaud with his feet while lying on his back. The nice (horrified) audience member behind me mouths the words to me, “Oh, you poor person.”
Solution: Calmly remind X that this is not appropriate audience behavior and prompt him to sit up. (Limited success: He does sit up but then begins to turn in circles on his butt.)

Thankfully at about this time Assembly ends and it’s time to head back to the classroom for dismissal. Gee, that was fun! I can’t wait for next month!

4:15 am

Rustle. Rustle.

Thump!

Pad. Pad. Pad.

Thump! Thump! Rustle.

Mew.

“Kurt,” I groan, “I think she’s got a mouse again.”

“Yeah,” he says.

I burrow under the covers and pull them up around my ears. Maybe she’ll just stop on her own. We lie there half asleep, each trying to out wait the other, or hoping the cat will just go away.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Rustle. Mew.

“It’s your turn,” I finally complain. “I got the one the other night.”

After a few more minutes and ongoing thuds, thumps, and mews, I feel the blankets move back. A small light turns on.

“Is it a mouse?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. I hear him rustle around a bit and then leave the room. The door outside opens, then shuts. A few minutes later, the bed sinks as he climbs back in. I roll over and snuggle back into the blankets, drifting off contentedly.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Thump!

Rustle. Rustle.

Mew.

“Oh, no,” I moan. “It must have been a twin!”

Juniper…mouser extraordinaire