writing

I will be giving a talk today to eleven people about writing practice.
(See p. 11 in Writing Down the Bones.)
Natalie once wrote that the way to keep writing is to teach it.
I lead three writing groups each week and do I ever do a lot
of writing. I scribble along in my notebook alongside my students.
I have a whole new understanding of what Natalie faces and I
channel her method constantly.
People love it but then come the questions...
"where is this going?"
"when will I write my memoir?"
"I can't get the detail."
ETCETERA
So I patiently answer and reread Nat's books and
tap into my five times in Taos, watching and listening
to a great teacher.
I have tricked myself into writing.
I drag myself into class full of self doubt and
leave flying high.
Today's prompts?
*the present moment
*saying good bye
*my name
Ten minutes: Go.

The present moment

Cranking radiator to my left, dull light coming in the window over my right shoulder. Listening to the weather on the radio this morning I realized I won’t see the sun for five days. The sky is low and grey. A white blanket has been tossed over New England. Staring out the kitchen window at the gloom, I feel claustrophobic. There’s a ceiling in the natural world.

People travel to Florida, the Caribbean, Arizona and California to get some relief from the cold of east coast winters. They want to be warm. But do they also travel to see the sky? Night sky with stars, pink sky with sunrise, deep blue sky with yellow sun? I like to look up and know I am seeing so far up that it is beyond any knowing.

Here in New England we turn our collars up against the cold. I hunch my shoulders and watch the ground as I walk. It is a mine field of ice under soft snow, or slippery mud just above frozen ground. It can be treacherous. I fell hard last week when my playful dog ran into me.

Where’s the bright side? The turning of winter into spring. The tiniest shifts in light. The smell in the air and the song of a bird I haven’t heard since fall. I sense the migration has begun. This time from south to north.

A beam of light falls in the front hall against a wall that only sees direct light at this time of year. I would miss winter. The radio reports a storm coming. I drive Eliza to the airport hoping the flakes will hold off. I don’t trust those deicing machines. Blessedly the storm begins as she heads west. Winter keeps you on your toes.

February 14

I really have no interest in long stemmed roses. I eat chocolate year round so this day is no different than any other day. I am always looking for a reason to haul out the art supplies and lure my family into participating with me. Valentine's Day is great for that.

One year when my daughters were young our valentines were covered with red and pink glitter. A shower of glimmering color wanted or unwanted poured out of each recipient's envelope. My kitchen floor was covered too. I was sweeping up glitter well into April. Just as I still find pine needles in the living room even though the Christmas tree has been gone for a month. These are ways we mark time. Dye stained finger tips mean Easter is on it's way and a few pumpkins seeds in the bottom of the oven are left from the roasting done last October after the Halloween pumpkin was carved.

Any of these holidays can be tossed off as having become too commercial or artificial but they are what you make of them. Valentine's Day provides us an excuse to stop the routine, make, buy or email a card and send warm wishes. Give a hug to someone or something you love; your dog, friend, sister, cat, sweetheart, child. I wish I could run my finger along the back of the bright red cardinal sitting in the crabapple tree outside my window. He looks like a valentine.

Love to all on this cold February Day!

February light revisited

East coast barn takes on Rocky Mountain attitude!
Straight from the Denver Stock Show! Thanks west coast relatives!

February light

As I stood in the 10 degree winter barn yesterday wearing parka, hat and sheepskin mittens, waiting for David to finish splitting kindling wood so I could carry it inside, my eyes wandered to this door. Something ordinary became a still life as the winter light struck that point for only a short time. I looked and then looked again and then decided to go inside and get my camera, leaving the axe wielding woodsman to his work.

There's a story here. The wreath, which adorned the front door of our house during Christmas, is too lovely to throw on the brush pile just yet. A few oak leaves escaped the rake in the fall and lie brittle on the mat. A green sleeping roll reminds me that we sometimes sleep outside. Winter makes me forget that I am ever warm. The candles and string of lights are from the book party we had for LOON this summer, a celebration that brought family from as far away as China. Seeing the shovel makes me grateful that the epic snow storm in Washington, DC didn't even send us a flake.

The small antlers above the door? They were once part of the wild world. I will never know their story.

Car

My first car was a Plymouth Valiant sedan; eggshell blue. It belonged to my sister- in-law, Rozie. She and my brother had moved to Brooklyn Heights and no longer needed two cars. I was the lucky recipient of this handed down vehicle. At the time, I was a college senior majoring in elementary education. I used public transportation or rode my bicycle across the BU bridge to get from my apartment on Marie Street in Cambridge to attend college on the Riverway. During my final semester, I had a student teaching job four days a week at the Runkle School in Brookline. I needed a car to transport bags of student notebooks and supplies for art projects to and from school. This car came into my life at the perfect time.

My second car was a grey Volvo sedan with red seats. My mother and I found it at a used car lot in Newport, Vermont near where my parents spent the summer. I had approached them again with my need for a car. This time I was starting my first teaching job at Milton Academy. I needed a way to get from my apartment on Magazine Street in Cambridge, a half an hour south to Milton. I fell in love with this snazzy vehicle. I didn’t even care to know the details of its past. Had it been in an accident? (probably, I later realized as it shimmied at high speeds.) Did it burn oil? (yes, I later found out as I pulled over to the side of the Southeast Expressway more than once, as smoke poured out from under the hood.)

I wanted it. My mother shrugged her shoulders, knowing it was my decision and seeing I was hooked. I drove it for many years, filling two tanks everytime I went to the gas station. One full of gas, one full of oil. It was worth it. Sometimes you have to go the extra mile for something you love.

post script. When I was married, I sold it for almost nothing to the son of a neighbor. As he drove it to college out the Mass Pike, my beloved car let out a final sigh and died. That's loyalty for you.

hearts

It is February 2nd. Do you know where your glue stick is?

use these words in a sentence

perigee |ˈperəˌjē|
noun Astronomy
the point in the orbit of the moon or a satellite at which it is nearest to the earth. The opposite of apogee .
ORIGIN late 16th cent.: from French périgée, via modern Latin from Greek perigeion ‘close around the earth,’ from peri- ‘around’ + gē ‘earth.’

apogee |ˈapəjē|
noun Astronomy
the point in the orbit of the moon or a satellite at which it is furthest from the earth. The opposite of perigee .
• figurative the highest point in the development of something; the climax or culmination of something : the White House is considered the apogee of American achievement.