True Slicing Fashion

Here I am, 11:48, almost out of time. I have been a late slicer almost all month. I still somehow made it here every day. It's kind of a surreal thing, writing every day about your everyday. Like I said though, I can't really go on too long because it's now 11:49 and the clock is ticking.
I did a lot of things today, I could list them out, but mostly what I enjoyed was feeling a bit closer to my daughter. At one point today we were all cuddled up together playing a word game on the couch. She claimed to be bored, we played, getting closer and closer. She's not too huggy these days. She's a bit distant. But for a moment today, it felt like she was my little cuddle bug snuggled up next to me. I didn't dare say a word, instead, I just leaned into her a bit. She didn't seem to mind.
11:52, still time to spare.

So, here is a moment of thank you. A thank you to all who participate in this challenge. Even if you only started, if you made it half-way, if you made it 30 days and not 31 because of some pestering obligation. It all matters. Every story you wrote, every word you thought, every moment you shared. It mattered and is taking up a bit of space in the universe now. You can feel pretty proud of that.

11:54--I don't think I'll push it any longer. Time to hit publish.
Goodnight.

Timeless Toy

I opened up a book of Mary Oliver poems today. An old bookmark fell out. It is a bookmark I think I've written about before. Funny thing, I always put it in a Mary Oliver book because I know I'll always re-find it there. 

I read a little poetry. Then I looked at the bookmark. It was a gift from my mom. I'm not sure what age I was when I got it and I don't remember where it came from. She would probably remember. 

As I stared at the bookmark, the words, "My Teddy Bear Loves Me" reminded me of my teddy bears as a kid. I had a few, my favorites being Cindy (she was a yellow-ish teddy bear) and Boo-Boo (he went with me everywhere). 

Teddy bears are such a timeless toy. 

 

Feeling Springy

I was feeling hungry for a California Roll but didn't really want to make my own at home. Shawn suggested we head to Horrock's. I hadn't been there is a few months even though I love their produce and specialty items.
While we were there, we walked around a bit. I was particularly drawn to the fresh flowers and garden displays. All the tulips and spring blooms along with the gerbera daisies were just bursting with juicy colors.

I know it's been "officially" spring for nine days now, but it's really starting to feel like it! Sunshine, bright blue skies, and beautiful flowers in one of my favorite stores. 

*Shawn just told me he thinks they are calling for snow this weekend. 

Much-Needed

The long week will be rewarded tomorrow morning.
No alarm.
Wake up when I want.
Take my time with my coffee.
Keep my pj's on longer.
Lay around a bit more.
Get some much-needed reading done.
Get some much-needed writing done.
Get some much-needed laundry done


I'll keep my expectations a bit low but I am hoping to accomplish a lot. Time will get away from me fast if I don't.

Just Enough

Sitting here at my desk a bit of evening sunshine is reaching through the blinds and warming up the air around me. I look around this classroom and it feels so "lived" in now. I've been in this section of the building for four years. It's been a very different space from my kindergarten and first grade teacher days.

I remember when I first began "moving" in I didn't have time to really explore everything that was here, left, or necessary. I was also struggling to part with things I had held onto for many years. What if I was moved back to kindergarten? What if I didn't like third grade? Questions swirled and uncertainty lingered for a while. It's less now and I have less "things" to part with as they've already made there way somewhere by now.

Eight and nine-year olds seem to have a special place in my heart these days. I would describe them as just the right amount of curiosity, wonder, and spark with a touch of silliness and unpredictability. They keep me on my toes but I don't mind because they pay me back with hugs and just enough paintings, drawings, and notes to make it all worthwhile.

Washing Off the Day

It’s my second long night of conferences. 

As draining and tiring as conferences are there are parts I enjoy. I get to spend little moments of down time catching up with colleagues. There’s time to tidy my desk or prep little things here and there. Most of all I get to share successes with families. 

All of that made for a long day. I was eager to get home. 

As soon as I could I took a hot shower and climbed into my pjs. I immediately felt like I had washed off the day and was ready to relax. 

I’m two days away from spring break. It’s feeling more and more deserved. 

Starting Over

I have started this slice multiple times. 

I was going to write about the snowdrops in the backyard. Then I started writing a poem about the patterns of life. From there I remembered the deer I saw the other day right outside the window, and we both startled each other. That seemed like a good idea, but I changed my mind again. The deer in the window made me think about the big crack in the back patio and how it's still stained in a dark gray with remnants of where the "legs" of the old aluminum overhang used to be. My train of thought lingered on that for a moment. I started to have a whole lot of thoughts. 

I decided to go read a large portion of my slices from 2017. That was the year we were in our rental house, we were safe and sound, OUR house was no longer our house, but it would be again someday. I wrote about all the things I missed, all the things I was surrounded by, I wrote, and it healed me in a lot of ways. 

I remember after the first couple of days writing with the "Not my..." theme back then I started to worry I wouldn't be able to keep it up. I wondered if I could work within a confined idea as opposed to open season on whatever I wanted. Turns out I could do it. It also turns out I have a month of memories from a very challenging time in my life that I will never want to forget. 

Just like this slice was started over and over moving into this newly built home over a year after our fire was like starting over. It was a fresh start and even though we've lived here for over a year now, it still feels fresh all the time. Eerily similar and yet so different. 

Timing and Preparation

Yesterday morning:

Yelling from the kitchen while putting on his shoes, “I’m going over!”

I respond back, “Okay, check in regularly, please. We have yard work to do today.”

I wondered how soon I’d see him. Would I have to be that mom again and yell his name for the whole neighborhood to hear? 

Nope. He was heading back already. They must be out of town.

My son, he’s thirteen, still loves to play outside. We’ve only just begun to have warm enough weather to be outside again let alone reconnect with the neighborhood kids. He had just been playing with the eleven-year-old down the street the other day. 

“That was fast!” I said. 

“He’s got the flu,” his eyebrows raised a bit when he said it. 

“Like influenza, the flu or someone called what he has the flu.” 

“I don’t know. His mom said the flu.”

Shawn and I exchange glances. He had his flu shot but we've been hearing this latest strain is unresponsive and stronger.

This could be bad. Do I text her and ask. Is that weird?

"Check her Facebook. Maybe she posted something," Shawn suggests.

I think it's probably unlikely I'll find an absolute answer, but then, right in front of me with a blue background and all, "Took him in to get tested, he's positive for Influenza A."

So now, not only did I feel weird about FB stalking to find out how sick my neighbor's kid was, I was trying not to immediately panic. 

As the day went on I watched a perfectly healthy kid pick up sticks, rake, and goof around in the yard. Then later in the afternoon, a tiny cough began. By nine in the evening, flush cheeks became visible and his temp went from 99.8 to 100.6 in about an hour before he went to bed. 

Time to mask up and prepare.

Building a Pile

Looking out the window, I could see the magnitude was uncountable. We would all need to lend a hand.
Putting on some older shoes, warm-ish clothes, and a pair of gloves we all headed out.
It became a challenge, how many could we each take at a time? No one was actually counting, but each one added to my hand felt like I was leveling up. Then there were the ones that practically took up my whole hand or needed to be dragged.
Each time my hand was full, it was back to the pile to see how far I could throw them to get them to the top.
As we got down to those remaining, every once in a while I would grab one, and it would be attached to something much bigger gripped to the ground with tangled waves of last year's growth. The ripping was quite satisfying.

By the end, we had a pile. I wish I had a picture.
Any idea what I spent part of my day picking up?

Winding Down

As the week comes to a close, I’m winding down and eating a late dinner. My parents made an unexpected visit to celebrate my daughter’s birthday a bit early. They were nearby, which is rare, so it worked out nicely.

After they left, I realized I hadn’t eaten. And I was starving! Funny how that happens. You sort of forget you’re hungry due to distractions and then suddenly it’s like you’ve never eaten before. 

To celebrate my hunger, I made myself some of my favorite roasted veggies and spicy noodles topped with salted pepitas. Now I smell it, and I’ve pulled up my favorite books from the library to see what’s on the menu for next week! I decided I would get my slice done first so I could sit back a bit and enjoy the food. It's an excellent motivator.

I’m winding down before things rev up again! 

Unexpected Leisure

Tossing, turning.
Tossing, turning.

I could not sleep last night.
My daughter could not sleep last night.
My dog could not sleep last night.

So, we all seemed to toss and turn around through the night. We'd mumble out inaudible words to each other. We made attempts to help one another. If all three of us were awake, maybe we could help one of us. It worked off and on.

My alarm started at 5:00 a.m. I hit the snooze until 5:24 as I became hit with the realization this time I needed to be awake. Grabbing my robe, dog by my side, I headed to the back door through the darkness. I wondered if it was still raining as I opened the sliding glass door to see my backyard covered in a blanket of fog. I clipped a leash to my dog and wondered, Hmmm, a delay today would be too good to be true. I never miss those alerts. With impulsive hope, I checked my messages.

"We have a 2-hour fog delay today."

I had to read it three times. Was this really my most recent message? How could I be sure? Checking the date and time even though the evidence was right outside, I decided it must be true. All of those "snoozes" must have interfered with me interpreting an alert as opposed to an alarm. 

With that, I quickly made some lunches, did the dishes, and now I can be an early slicer for one day this month!

Now on with my leisurely morning.

Showtime

As I entered the doors near the auditorium, I was met with many smiles. I walked, passing parents, grandparents, and siblings eagerly waiting. As I got closer to the hallway on the other side of the auditorium, I could hear the squeals.

The energy was high. There was bouncing, hopping, wall pushing, and most of all pure glee! My class was SO excited to perform for their families. They had their recorders at the ready around their necks, and their best outfits on.

As I struggled to reign in their attention, we slowly began to get into concert line-up. I kept signaling students with calming gestures--breath--center--calm body. I watched them all relax a bit before starting to walk toward the entrance.

There's something about entering a packed auditorium. You could feel the anticipation!
Showtime.

Dulling my Edges

I have been feeling my edges lately.
I do not enjoy when my edges come to such a surface level.
I normally have so much tolerance.
But when my edges surface my tone sharpens.
When my edges surface my face hardens
before I can stop it.
I don't like my edges to show.
Their purpose--moot.

The sun was shining.
I was alone in the car.
I almost rolled down the window
47 degrees, eh--not quite. 
Music was playing on the radio.
Slowly the music got louder and louder.
I cranked it higher and higher.
I think it dulled my edges a bit.
Driving in the sunshine.
Blaring some "who knows what" music.

Arriving home,
more music,
Tiny Desk concerts on public radio.
I'm a bit more centered.
I'm feeling fuzzier already with
compassion,
patience,
and care.
I was ready to dull these edges.

A Generous Gift

Last weekend I was at a conference here in Michigan. It was amazing. I saw and listened to some great voices in education. Some I had never been lucky enough to hear before.

The last day of the three-day conference Ellin Oliver Keene was the keynote. I've been curious to read her new book, Engaging Children, but hadn't gotten it yet.

I listened to her talk. I was not surprised by my furious note-taking so I could attempt to capture as many words as possible. One quote she shared is something I've been thinking about a lot lately. It has given me pause. It's made me think about whether I'm generous in this way. Am I too caught up in my own thoughts? I tend to think a lot and fast and sometimes this causes me to miss important moments. To not pay attention.

What I appreciated most was developing a better understanding of what engagement really is and what it really isn't. Attention is a generous gift we give to someone in front of us. I like thinking of it in this way and it makes me want to give more of my attention away. 

March 17, 2019

Memories seem so intangible at times. Do I remember that right? Did I just fill in a blank? They are intangible until you cry a tear and the tear is touchable. A touchable memory.

Memories feel so far away. I mean, they are memories, so it makes sense. It's just so hard to think sometimes that moments become memories and yet so many others just become forgotten.

Today marks the 28th anniversary of my grandmother's death. Many years have passed, and many times I have written about that day. Sometimes I haven't. I have many memories on that day some of which I have objects from that make it more of a tangible memory.

I wish I had more memories of time with my grandmother. I only got twelve years with her, and the things I remember are probably enough but feel too small.

• Skipping in the parking lot of D&W.

• The green fruit salad bowl.

• Her terrarium that she cherished. Climbing into her bed on Christmas morning because it was too early. 

• Angel food cake with strawberries.

• Peeking through the opening of the kitchen to the living room.

• Her smile.

• Her laugh--a faint sound in the back of my mind.

I wish I remembered more. I wish some of my happiest memories with her were as touchable in my thoughts as the day she died.

Not every link below is a story of my grandmother, but almost all of them are. I've rounded them up here because I know next year I will want to go back and read all the posts I've written on this day. Your welcome Betsy of 2020. Betsy of 2019 was thinking ahead for you.

March 17, 2018
March 17, 2017
March 17, 2016
March 17, 2015
March 17, 2014
March 17, 2013
March 17, 2012

I Heard You

The last few days have been teasingly nice at times. We still managed to have some crazy winds, rain, and tornadoes in Michigan this week but more bizarre, there was sun. I was putting my coat in the backseat at the end of the school day. I was feeling rays of warmth on my cheek and this made me happy even if it was only 45 degrees outside.

I woke up this morning ready-ing myself to head out for the morning. It was a balmy 30 degrees (wink) but I wasn't feeling my winter coat so I threw on a hoody and grabbed my purse.  I opened the garage and stopped dead in my tracks at the sound.

D-D-D-D-d-d-d-d-d-d
D-D-D-D-d-d-d-d-d-d
D-D-D-D-d-d-d-d-d-d

Tiptoeing to the edge I saw snow-covered blades of green attempting to regain a place in the world.

D-D-D-D-d-d-d-d-d-d
D-D-D-D-d-d-d-d-d-d
D-D-D-D-d-d-d-d-d-d

My eyes dart up.
Where is it? Is that what I think it is?

D-D-D-D-d-d-d-d-d-d
D-D-D-D-d-d-d-d-d-d
D-D-D-D-d-d-d-d-d-d

I stood in my driveway and stopped.
I listened.
I would be late.

Best Part of My Week

I'm not going to lie, this week was long, hard, and rough around all the edges. At times I felt as though I was torturing myself. Which, I realize sounds dramatic. It's meant to sound that way. I rarely over-exaggerate or complain, at least I hope I rarely entangle myself in those behaviors. But, wow, it felt hard.

Then, there were these fifteen minutes. Fifteen glorious little minutes where I surrounded myself with wonder, possibility, and joy.

I went to preschool.

Just to visit. Just to be around the little people. It was by far the best part of my week. I met kids I've never met before. I banged on a drum. I watched a dinosaur fight a bear. I played with baby dolls. I listened to a story about myself and my imaginary baby, named Jason all drawn out on the corner of a piece of paper. I could not have been showered with more happiness and engagement than those precious fifteen minutes. It was the perfect dose of play and conversation with little people who didn't know me.

It was the best part of my week.

Is There Anything More Exhilarating?

I just...just, finished report cards. I suddenly have this feeling of freedom.
I was finding myself thinking, there is nothing more exhilarating!
Then I thought, um...yes there is.

It is really something how I find myself often completely wrapped up in everything that is education, my students, late phone calls to parents, adjusting lesson plans, finishing report cards, mapping out data. It feels like everything is revolving around my work life yet here I sit, my daughter across from me, eating a late dinner because I "had no time."

It makes me a little uneasy. I am going to get back to a balance, but at the moment I'm tipping the scale way too far and I probably need to pump the breaks a bit.

There are many things more exhilarating than finishing report cards and I have three of those things in my home with me right now.

"What's that Smell?"

Someone blew out a candle.
But
I didn't know.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, papers all over, highlighters, points, scores, blah. My head hurt. I was a bit cranky. Not a good combination going into the evening.

"Does anyone smell that? I smell heat. It smells like something melting, Can anyone hear me? Do you smell it?" I know my voice was a bit sharp. My words gained speed. I didn't wait for any responses I just kept yelling out questions.

"Um, I kind of smell crayon. Is that what you smell?" my daughter asked.

Then, from the front of the house, I hear, "I blew out a candle. It's fine," from my husband.

"Oh, good. I couldn't tell what that was, " I yelled back. I suddenly was breathing easier.

We don't typically light candles at my house anymore. It's an occasional thing but I'm usually fully aware of the candle. This time, not so much. That little whiff of smokey heat made me super alert and aware.

I've always had things that triggered certain memories. Songs that made me think about past summers. Clothes that make me remember smaller children. Photos, or the taste of foods. But smoke, heat, anything even remotely electrical in odor sends a rush of endorphins like I might need to run for my life. It is the oddest and most legitimate of feelings, but I am still caught off guard by it at times. 

Nostalgic Rays

"Mom, what's nostalgia mean?"

My son asked me this question from the passenger seat on the way home from school tonight, and I was trying to find the right words to explain nostalgia. Fatigue was definitely making it difficult to find the right words.

"Well, I can't quite put my finger on a dictionary-like definition, but if I were to give you an example, it would be the feeling I get when I see you and Jane playing at the beach. We've been to the beach a bunch of times and often when we are there I think of when you were little. The place is sort of the same but you are both different, and I get a feeling of nostalgia or a longing for you to be small again. It's sort of a trigger I guess. I get nostalgic when something reminds me of a happy time in the past."

I glanced over to see his face. He seemed to be in deep thought.
"Any, particular reason you were thinking about it?" I asked him.

"Yeah, yesterday I went for a bike ride, and it was like I got a rush of all these feeling from the fall. I was thinking about how much fun it was to ride my bike in all the same places, and the fresh air was making my dopamine go crazy," he said, in an intelligently bewildered sort of way.

"Huh, I could see how that might happen, it's been a long time since you rode your bike. You sort of got a brief taste of freedom."

The sun has come out two days in a row in Michigan. I am feeling the same nostalgia my son is feeling. The longing for bright skies, breezy fresh air, and being outdoors.

Aesthetic Experiences

It was an early start after two LONG days of learning, walking, and tossing through the night in a hotel bed. I was tired, achy, and uncertain of my ability to take on much more. However, my alarm sounded and I got up. I had to admit, as tired as I was, I was still eager to listen to Ellin Keene speak. I've never been in the same room with her before and I was pretty sure I wasn't going to want to miss a minute. 

I was right. 

One of the most fascinating parts of her conversation with us was about aesthetics. She said so many things, but this was what I am still thinking about:

"Who says we all have the same aesthetic experiences? What we find beautiful they may not."

I head into the remaining days of the week asking myself questions, "How can I find what might create an aesthetic experience for each of my students? What catalyst will I stumble upon unexpectedly? Will I notice when it happens?"

At this moment I've determined that it is more important to be asking the questions than having the answers.

Today

Today I got to...

Start the day one hour more tired
Eat avocado toast and coffee
Tweet with an old college friend who saw me
Hug my closest friend who seemed far away
Spend time with my husband
Hug and say hello to Kate Roberts
Feel my brain expanding
Listen to passionate educators
Walk in a cold wind
Take a hot shower
Wear cozy pj's
Go to bed feeling full

full of ideas

full of love

full of happy.

Cold Rain Smiles

This weekend my husband Shawn and I somehow ended up getting to go to the same literacy conference together. We don't work in the same district so it is a rare occasion something pops up for both of us. I've been looking forward to eating meals together, OUT.

Tonight we decided we would try and venture a couple blocks to grab some dinner and downtime. The weather was a bit questionable, but we decided we would brave it anyway. Shawn had mentioned to me earlier that there was a KISS concert in town. I hadn't really thought about the impact it might have on our ability to eat. Nor did I consider how people who would normally stand in line for a concert might adjust for the weather conditions. Many took refuge in nearby restaurants. Who can blame them?

As I began to realize we were not going to find a restaurant with less than a 90-minute wait I also realized we were probably doomed to make the walk back to the hotel in the cold splitting wind.

I will say, it was quite a sight to see these fans. I saw little kids with detailed face paint, some fans in full KISS apparel (I hope that wasn't actually KISS walking the streets because I missed a huge opportunity if it was), and we saw a lot of very happy people smack in the middle of some pretty awful weather conditions. 

So, I've realized that even cold wind and rain can't get everybody down. I couldn't help but smile in the misery as well. 

These Two

My kids.

I can hardly believe 

how grown up they are. 

The things they are experiencing—

it astounds me.

The other day a colleague came in to visit with her newborn and toddler. Though she has two boys I felt like I was looking in a mirror for a moment. This tiny baby and a little boy all cheeks and smiles on her lap snacking from a cup. Those days were so amazing and awesomely hard. 

Then I look at these two and I’m blown away. All we’ve done. All we’ve been through. All there is to come. It’s exciting! (Also, a bit terrifying at times.) 

Words Appear

If you are familiar with Lynda Barry's book, What It Is, you won't be surprised that I began flipping through the pages for inspiration tonight. 

Page 44 asks, "[what]Where is a story before it becomes words?"

What an intriguing question. Slice of life stories live within our moments, our memories, our thoughts, and dreams. 

By writing them down, I attach words to them.

I could tell of how my eyelids are dropping as we speak. 

I could write of how I have a bag to pack.

I could describe the blur of this screen.

I could remember the stories of walnuts.

And there it is.

On page 44, as I sat here writing those few lines above, I noticed a walnut on the page within the illustrations. Walnuts were a funny and familiar thing to me growing up. If ever we were passing by a walnut tree we might stop and ask if we could collect them. The walnuts would then sit in our cool basement until my parents were ready to boil them. OH the smell! 

See, as a child, my parents were not only teachers, but they were also basket weavers. They made baskets, cradles, and buggies of all kinds. At the time there were not a lot of basket makers at craft shows and the like, so my parents were unique in the sense of a small business renting a table at a fair. Their business was called Country Creations. My job was usually to soak the reed while my parents would weave the baskets for those passing by. 

People were amazed by the craftsmanship of my parents work. 

We had rows and rows of different reed--wide, narrow, cylindrical, flat. My parents made their own walnut dye and once the baskets were finished would seal it with shellac. The whole process was fascinating and quite beautiful. 

There are many stories about the basket weaving time in our life. I may need to share a few more of them this month. I sometimes forget the little moments, memories, and blur of the past. But then, just like that, a story that was living inside a memory is brought forth from a single image. 

Words appear. 

THE Orange Slice

Back in 2013, I was lucky enough to join the Two Writing Teachers co-author team. Before the March 2014 SOLSC, we had discussed freshening up the image for slicing. I distinctly remember Stacey sending an image of an orange slice with a message that was basically, "Here's an idea?"

When I got home that night I grabbed some flecked ivory-ish paper, some watercolor paint, and a marker along with scissors and glue. I don't know what I was even thinking I was going to do. I cut a circle, then another, and another. I began to wonder how I would make the segments look uniform while organic at the same time. I folded the circle in halves until it seemed just right.

I could then start to see how it would come together. I painted with some orange-ish washes of paint and yellows for brightness, with a bit of red for a peach hue here and there. When the painted segments were dry I carefully cut them apart, placing them onto the pithy color backdrop I had layered on an additional circle painted in the same washes of colors.

At the time, being part of such an incredible group of writers who inspired me was more than I could imagine. I didn't know if the team would like my orange slice but I distinctly remember thinking, this could be it! Slicing was such a big part of my life and putting together these pieces of paper seemed like I was putting together the pieces of my writing life.

I can remember my husband putting a white piece of paper on our piano bench (insert tear for my missed piano) and placing the orange slice on top so he could photograph it. So much tinkering ensued and font styles, and sizes, and oh my was I proud.

I have a special spot in my basement all set up for writing now. It's a good place for writing. On top of my desk I have the slice on a metal message board. I realize the colors clash a bit, but the messages of each are pretty spot on. Not to mention, it is beside my Great-Grandmother who almost always makes her way into a story each March.

Foot Rubs

When I was younger, my mom and I used to rub each other's feet. We'd stretch our legs out toward each other and give each other a foot rub. At one point, we even started learning about reflexology and trying to find particular areas to apply pressure for sinus relief or stomach pain. I was never really sure if we were doing it right or if it worked, but it got me more foot rubs!

My mom and I both still like a good foot rub. There is something quite relaxing about it, and my feet are always tired.

Now my daughter and I have taken up the tradition. Tonight we got home from school a bit later than usual. Both of us were on the couch reaching our feet out to the other. Without saying a word, we both started. It was short lived but a good end to a long day.

Cold Days Continue

It's March 4th and cold. Oh so cold.

This is nothing new of course, I've lived in Michigan my entire life. Cold is expected. Snow is inevitable. That doesn't change the fact that when March hits I want things to change.

For instance, this morning all I wanted to do was wear flats. I love my boots. I have boots I can wear from the snowy parking lot and then all day long. I'm just tired of them. I wanted to wear shoes. As I looked out the window I saw snow was already coming down and the bitterness in the air was already visibly uncomfortable. So, instead, I packed my shoes in my school bag and put on some warm fluffy faux fur boots to wear in the car.

I can't wait for warmer weather, but I will. Those first days that hit sixty degrees are so super special. Coats hang in closets and sandals emerge. It's something to look forward to!

A Bringer of Wisdom

"Code-switching," I stated. "You know what I mean? I'm realizing it is not just an assumed trait."

"Yes, I know what you mean," he responded. 

As the weekend came to an end I realized I had encountered three worlds from my life. Each of which I am able to take on different parts of myself. At this stage of my life, the three worlds are less different from each other. I suppose at a different time they might have been more easily differentiated. Mostly just by language, or shades of language. 

I never thought much of the differences or likenesses. However, watching other members of my family grow into these worlds has opened my eyes a bit more. Watching them interact in ways different from my own is--at times--challenging.

I'm finding myself thinking about what a family becomes as they grow up together. A child is born and lives a childhood and at the same time a parent is born and lives parenthood. The two are side by side, parallel in life yet bonded by abstract intersections. All these different pieces connect them but each is its own line running in an infinite direction of its own making. 

There is so much to learn on these paths. I am reminded I did not always know or wish for the learning. I did, however, find it. And time is a hopeful thing and a bringer of wisdom. 

Over the River and Through the Woods

On an early Saturday drive

we pass cozy homes 

bare swept branches,

and an ice capped pond. 

Overhead, two geese together 

then later, one alone

amid a backdrop  

of flurries and brittle air. 

As time and trees pass

the brittleness turns paler

giving a blur of white-gray

to already squinted eyes. 

Snow capped cattails 

pepper a sheet of frozen wetland

with unseen amphibian life below

in a blissful darkness. 

Awaiting a resuming spring,

I’m reminded of spirals 

and cycles of a season,

seeing what I’ve seen.

Over years of my life

but with eyes of today

seeing a newness 

for the first time. 

A Season for Seeing

I sat down this morning and could tell my daily slicer brain was starting to cue up. I've been writing almost every day but not slice of life stories. I've been in deep thought thinking about processes while reading and researching. In my first eye flutters of the day it hit me I had to write differently, think differently, and as I did the dust cloths came off, and I began.

At first, I thought, when am I going to write?
          Maybe right now would be best.

What will I say? Should it be profound? Should it be basic?
          Maybe it should just be this.

Or, should I write a poem? [Begins listing words, delete, delete]
          Maybe that just made me think.

I feel warmed up.

My eyes are bigger.

I'm ready for seeing.

I like this season of seeing in March. So much of my brain gets re-wired and focused. So much of my thoughts are given a bit of extra time to settle, and some become a word on a page. And, I think what I'm most looking forward to is it reminds me of when I first had these feelings. They mostly would come on my drive to work, which I've been taking for granted. But, I've noticed the lighter mornings. The dark grays that slowly dilute to lighter tones as we drive through the woods, past houses, and cautious deer. I've started to notice the few brave birds. I wonder when I'll hear them too? I'm hoping this will be the year the herring and the egrets come back to my favorite pond. They've been gone for years now, but I continue to hope.

It's a season for hoping.
It's a season of wishes.
It's a season for seeing.