something ordinary

As many of you know, after a lifetime of writing in journals, notebooks and letters to friends and family, I have started leading writing groups for adults. Frankly, most of us would rather water plants and do the dishes than sit down to write alone, even if it is the thing we love to do the most! Writers block is real!

My way of tricking myself into writing is to gather people together to teach. Then I have to do it! I have been leading writing groups for adults for a year now. I have a class at First Parish in Lincoln, one at Carlton Willard Village, a continuing care facility for the elderly in Bedford and a class through the Concord Adult Education program in Concord, Mass. My mission is to empower people who want to write but for a variety of reasons find it hard to do it on their own. As far as I am concerned, writing is a communal act. It is amazing to see people take risks, try new things, read aloud and develop confidence in their own voices. The rest of the group is a strong support in a relatively quiet way.

So today one of the prompts was "something ordinary." Here is what I wrote in ten minutes. It is practice, not a finished piece. That is the thing about my groups. We are "practicing," just as a musician or an athlete must practice. Thinking of our weekly writing this way takes the pressure off having to be amazing every time.


Something Ordinary

A mailbox is ordinary now, but will it soon be extinct? When was the last time you received a personal letter in the mail? I think we got fewer Christmas Cards this year. I can understand it, too. Sending greetings and photos via email takes very little time. There is no need to stand in line at the Post Office to buy stamps to put on the right hand corner of the envelope. There may come a time when a generation of children won't know what a three dimensional "mail box" is. Kind of like an "ice box." We still call a refrigerator by that name, but long gone is the man who carried a block of ice into the kitchen on his back resting on a rubber apron with a huge pair of pliers. As for letters, I will miss the stamps.

For now, what could be more ordinary than a mail box? Ours sits at the bottom of the driveway, rusted now from years of rain and snow. It is situated at a sharp curve at the bottom of a steep hill. Many a car has lost control coming down the icy road and careened into our driveway or into one of the pine trees David transplanted there years ago. This year, during a particularly vehement snow storm, our mailbox took a hit. What is not ordinary is that the person who hit it, braved our driveway and our icy front path to knock on the door. He came to confess. His car had hit our mailbox and he was truly sorry.

I was very touched by this connection between strangers. He didn't offer to do anything about it, but he just came to apologize. So now, when I gingerly open the front of the mailbox to extricate the catalogs and junk mail and as I gently return the post to it's upright position, I think of the nameless person who lost control of his car and took the time to tell us. I never found out what his car looked like after the collision. It think the post took the brunt of it.