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

We had a thoroughly enjoyable, mellow Thanksgiving at home with two of our three children. Our older daughter remained in Philadelphia, where she continues to spread her wings and explore city living. This was the first year that all 5 of us weren’t gathered together for at least a portion of the day. On Facebook, my cousin posted “Holidays were much more fun when the kids were young, home safe and sound! ” I know just what she means. This was also the first year my older sister and brother-in-law had none of their four children or assorted grandchildren at home. Marjorie Saiser’s poem “Thanksgiving for Two” appeared in my Inbox and I immediately forwarded it to my sister. I also tucked it away for myself. Those days are coming faster than I may wish, but there’s solace in this poem, a loving tribute to “decades of side-by-side.” After reading it, I’m more mindful of, and thankful for, my own “great good luck.”

I woke at about 2 am on Saturday morning. Unfortunately, that isn’t too unusual these days. Knowing that attempting to fall back sleep was futile, I got up. After a few hours of this and that, I sat on a chair in the family room, gritty-eyed, vaguely unsettled and idly contemplating napping. The overhead light was on but it felt like too much effort to get up to turn it off. Instead, I pulled my hood over my head to block the light and closed my eyes. Within a minute the new “kitten” (8 months old) reached her paw under the hood and batted at my face.

“Stop it!” I grumbled, pushing her away.

She responded with a swat to my nose. Apparently, she thought this was the best game ever. She pounced on my head and repeatedly jabbed under my hood. After a few more rounds, I gave up on napping and pulled off the hood. What should I do now? 

It was still dark outside. I glanced at my watch–5:15 am. Hmmm… What time does the sun come up these days anyway? My logy brain suddenly clicked up a notch.  Hey, I might be able to make it down to the beach to watch the sunrise! Moving the cat, who had continued to walk on my head and shoulders, I got up and opened my computer. A quick check showed that first light was at around 6 am and sunrise at about 6:30. Bonus–it had been low tide at 4:40, so the tide would still be out. If I leave by 5:30 I can make it! Suddenly energized, I got dressed, bundled up and headed out the door.

As soon as I stepped outside into the crisp morning air, I knew I’d made the right choice. The horizon was etched in crimson. With the moon nowhere in sight, the sky was a deep velvet blue punctuated with a few brilliant stars (or  planets?).  I drove east, watching the sky fade slowly from red to orange and then yellow, admiring the dark silhouettes of winter-bare trees. On the peninsula, estuaries reflected the growing light, meandering through the marshy tidal lands. As I finally pulled around the corner to the beach entrance, a bushy-tailed fox loped across the road, a rippling silhouette, and vanished into the brush. I parked and walked toward the beach. As I walked up the path, the sky ahead glowed. Then, the path opened up and the beach lay before me in all its glory. The sun-lit horizon stretched before me. No one was in sight. I was transfixed.

Mesmerized, I walked and watched the light show shift and change until the sun finally peeked over the horizon. Then, for the next hour or so, I wandered along the beach, taking photos, collecting sand dollars, examining the drift wood and admiring the amazing sand patterns. The combination of sunrise and beach time worked their magic on me and left me filled with awe at the wonders that surround me. In the words of the amazing Mary Oliver,
“Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less

kills me
with delight…”

The beach draws me in the off-season. There’s something about the wide expanses of sky, sand and sea that soothes me. On Sunday afternoon, my husband and I spontaneously headed to a nearby beach. The sand was indented with horse prints, deer tracks, dog prints, and lots of human footprints, but during our visit, the beach was uninhabited. We walked and walked and reveled in the solitude.

The ocean has many moods and on this day it was especially serene. Off shore the buoys stood straight, not leaning over in the current or surrounded by tell tale ripples of water, divulging the force and push of the tide. No waves rolled in, crashing against the shore. Just the faintest wash of tide moved in and out, like gentle, rhythmic breathing. Even the birds seemed calm. For most of our visit, we watched one seagull walking along the shoreline ahead of us. He never took to the air, but contentedly strolled along.

The tide was very low, lower than I’ve ever seen it, and ocean footprints rippled the sand, making fascinating patterns.  Autumn leaves dotted the beach and clustered at the shoreline.

I luxuriated in the brisk fresh air and in the respite of photography. Taking pictures forces me to slow down and focus on the world around me. It helps me put things into perspective.  As I walked idly down the beach and stopped off and on to take pictures, I felt like I was breathing deeply for the first time in weeks.

Lonely Leaf

Captured ocean

Sand capillaries

Ghost Leaf

“Have you ever noticed a tree standing naked against the sky,
How beautiful it is?
All its branches are outlined, and in its nakedness
There is a poem, there is a song.”
~Krishnamurti

I was halfway to work this morning, lost in an audiobook, when the silhouette of a tree caught my eye. In the cold morning its branches etched the sky like tributaries intertwining at a delta. It was stark, intricate and magnificent. Somehow, it pierced my inattention and snapped me out of Maoist China and into the present day. I turned the CD off and tuned into the scenery around me.

It was a stunning November morning, and until that moment, I hadn’t even noticed. The rolling farmland spilled away from the edges of the road, in undulating, glistening hills. Frost-covered shingles sparkled on rooftops and lazy curls of smoke drifted from brick chimneys. By the side of the road, fallen leaves skipped and danced in the wake of passing cars, their edges curled inward, as if to ward off the chill. Frozen dew cloaked the fading blooms on leggy weeds with dazzling crystals. A man and his dog walked along briskly, their breath feathering the air with billowing plumes. Farther along, down at the river, the water reflected the last vestiges of fall color, and breathed wraiths of fog that swirled and glowed in the morning light. Concealing. Revealing. Overhead, a flock of geese flew by, underlit by the rising sun. I took it all in, entranced by the beauty, and thankful that I’d finally noticed the gift of this morning.

    November Morning

        The rising sun gilds the treetops’
remnant bronzy leaves
and warms the bellies
of low-flying geese
to amber glow

(c) Molly Hogan, 2017

Jama Rattigan is hosting Poetry Friday today at her delicious blog, Jama’s Alphabet Soup. She always serves up a feast, so be sure to drop by and enjoy today’s offerings!