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.