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.

March 2019 SOLC–Day 3
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

Sometimes I wonder if my husband ever listens.

Here’s a case in point. Last night we’d met our daughter, Lydia, and her boyfriend, Andrew, for dinner before going to see “Into the Woods” together. They still had to pick up their free tickets, so after dinner we separated and agreed to meet about an hour later at the auditorium.

Shortly before 7 pm, Kurt and I were chatting casually as we walked across the parking lot. I was slightly ahead of him and turned to head up the hill.

“It’s not in the CCA?” he asked, glancing across the road at the Collins Center for the Arts, the biggest venue on campus and where Lydia works part-time in the box office.

I stopped walking, looked at him, then continued, shaking my head. Where had he been during the last five minutes of dinner at the restaurant? When Lydia mentioned having to redirect all the people who had come to the CCA by mistake last night when she was working? When she said that they’d finally just started asking everyone who came in if they were looking for “Into the Woods”? When she SPELLED the name of the auditorium? H. A. U. C. K. When Andrew said to head right at the top of the stairs outside the Union?

“I guess I wasn’t listening,” he said.

Really?

But then I remembered yesterday in the car on the drive up.

“Oh, Kurt,” I said, “I forgot to tell you that I got another rejection.”

“Good for you!” he responded immediately, glancing over and smiling.

I smiled back, then laughed, wondering what someone eavesdropping might think of that exchange.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized how significant it really was. Somewhere along the line, Kurt had clearly been listening. When I talked about Stephen King and his stack of rejection slips, he had listened. When I shared my annual rejection letter goal, he had listened. Through this whole writing journey, he’s been listening and it shows. He values my writing and the effort I put into it. He knows that it isn’t just about the final piece. He knows that a rejection isn’t a failure, it’s an important part of the process. I hesitate to write this (because I’m never going to hear the end of it from him), but I guess, just maybe, he listens when it really counts.

A more expected response to my statement might have been, “Oh, I’m sorry!”, but Kurt’s response was perfect. It showed me that not only has he been listening, but he gets it.

March 2019 SOLC–Day 2
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 finally clicked enter, cut and pasted and the first post of the challenge was done! Phew! I’d struggled with the ending a bit, but mostly I’d enjoyed the process. Now, though, I was running a bit late. I needed to shower, eat and get out the door to head to work.

Walking upstairs, I looked out the window and gasped. The horizon was streaked with charcoal clouds backlit with glowing pinks and reds. My fingers itched to grab my camera and run down to the river. I stopped in my tracks.

I should just run down right now and take a few pictures. Can I do it? Do I have time? I have to go really soon or I’ll miss it…but it’s only 5˚F out so I can’t go with wet hair after I shower… or can I? I could be quick…I could wear a hat…but I’m already running late…Yes? No?  I waffled.

I’m experiencing an ongoing internal tug of war these days. I feel the need to slow down and take in the moment–to be mindful of the experiences and wonders in each day. It’s one reason I like photography and writing so much: Both naturally push me in that direction. On the other hand, I’m in my early 50s now and I keep thinking, “Hurry up! Do it now! Time’s passing!”

So, I stood on the stairs, looking out the window, feeling pulled and tugged in different directions. I simply have more things I want to do than I have time to do them. It’s a struggle! Eventually, I decided (with great difficulty) to ignore the stunning sunrise and get moving toward school. Half an hour later, I was on my way. Driving along, I found my thoughts wildly ping ponging back and forth.

What will I write about for the challenge tomorrow am I insane to have signed up for a poetry challenge this month as well I need to write a poem about bread by the end of the day can we get to writing the essays today oh, I still need to finish up those comments yikes parent conferences are coming right up and I still haven’t sent out those notices the clouds are really amazing this morning so many shapes and varieties…

Mindful? Ha! Not really. I was in full out frothy rush mode! And to top it off, I had my audio book playing and was simultaneously listening to the adventures of my favorite characters in Three Pines. Just cramming it all in!

Up ahead I saw a car pulled to the side of the road. I eased up on the gas. As I neared the car, I glanced to see why it was pulled over. Does someone need help? Are they picking someone up? Is there a deer? Maybe an owl!?! I’ve been dying to see an owl!

Wait! What?!

I did a double take. Shocked.  Instead of what I’d imagined, I saw a precarious black hulk surrounded by coils and explosions of debris–the charred remains of the modest home that had been standing there just yesterday. It was still smoking. A Sheriff’s car was in the driveway and the car I’d noticed was parked out front. Otherwise no one was about.

My bubbling, rambling thoughts skidded to a halt.

Oh.

I passed the parked car and the ruined home.

I turned off the audiobook.

Then, I continued on my way, my thoughts much different now.

How quickly life can change.

March 2019 SOLC–Day 1
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 husband, Kurt lay on the couch, dozing, fighting off a nasty virus. He’d been miserable for a couple of days and had settled in for a nice nap.

Outside our old farmhouse, winter continued unabated. I wasn’t even slightly tempted to get outdoors and enjoy the fresh air. Instead, I sat, curled up in a chair, swaddled in a blanket, and utterly content. I had my book in hand, a cup of hot spiced tea nearby and a bowl full of dry cereal, one of my favorite snacks. Ahhhh …. vacation!

As I read, I munched contentedly, enjoying the long peaceful stretch of a rare unscheduled day and seemingly unlimited time to read.

This is wonderful! I thought.

Kurt stirred on the couch, then resettled a bit more comfortably. Poor guy, I thought, he really isn’t feeling good. 

I grabbed another handful of  cereal, popped some into my mouth, and snuggled into the chair and into my book.

A moment later, Kurt shifted, half opened his eyes, and looked around.

“Molly,” he said groggily, “What are you eating?”

I started in surprise, stopped chewing, glanced at his disgruntled expression and laughed.

“No, really,” he repeated, looking bemused, “What the #$@! are you eating? It sounds like there are barnyard animals eating in here!””

His face was a picture–sleepy, grumpy and slightly horrified. I couldn’t help it. My mouth still full of half-chewed cereal, I started to laugh. I was soon laughing so hard that I couldn’t finish chewing, and that made me laugh even harder. I leaned back in the chair, and I laughed and laughed and laughed. After a minute tears gathered in the corners of my eyes, and my sides started to ache. At some point, I heard Kurt begin to chuckle, too.

Finally, I was able to settle down. I finished chewing and swallowed the cereal. I wiped my eyes and took a deep, shaky breath.

“OK,” I said, regaining control. ” It’s just Oatmeal Squares, and I’m almost done.” I popped another few in my mouth.

CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH!

Oh.  I guess these are pretty loud. I started giggling again.

Kurt harrumphed and muttered something else unflattering about pigs or horses. Then he lay down again and rolled over, facing away from me. I quickly shoveled the last few Oatmeal Squares into my mouth, and crunched away.

As he dozed off again, I hurried to finish chewing, now fully aware of the sounds emerging from my mouth. Unexpectedly, a refrain threaded through my head,
“And on that farm he had a wife…..
“…with a CRUNCH CRUNCH here …
and a CRUNCH CRUNCH there!”

I giggled again, teetering on the edge of hilarity.

Ruthlessly, I squashed the giggles, swallowed the last piece of cereal, and took a deep sip of tea. I picked up my book and settled myself down, resigned to the fact that I wouldn’t be snacking again anytime soon.

Leavened with a bit of shared laughter, the quiet of the afternoon seemed richer now and settled around us. Within moments, Kurt had slipped fully into sleep, and I had slipped back into 1930s Los Angeles.

Ahhh…vacation…