Hickory Smoked Turkey

  The other day, while sitting in circle, a student who had been upset and crying outside because a friend hurt her feelings, leaned over to me and said: "I'm sorry I'm crying over something so small." My heart sank because I knew how she felt. I looked our sweet student in the face and reassured her she had nothing to apologize for, that her feelings, no matter what they were, were valid.   Why is it so easy to recognize the pain or sadness of another human as valid, but it's such a challenge to honor and validate my/our own?   I've struggled with not only validating my own feelings but even recognizing them.  Over the summer, with my sister and nephew in town, I was sure that the nausea and trouble breathing I was experiencing, were due to an asthma attack. My hands and fingers cramped up and I felt like I was hyperventilating.  My husband took me to urgent care where the doctor listened to my symptoms and asked if I was especially worried about some...

Macro focus, micro focus, ants move. Rooster on gravel road, VFW door. Tips of leaves begin to change. From the playground, a rooster crows.

  I think of myself as optimistic. I tend to have a positive outlook on things and try to see the "bright side" of challenges. But, I am kidding myself. I'm freaking stressed out, in a manageable way, but I need to acknowledge it.   This summer I began to notice a pattern. I had just gotten surgery and after a week I expected that I would be back to normal. Six weeks later, while feeling pretty normal I'm still experiencing the after effects and am very much in the healing process. When I slow down and allow myself to think about how I'm feeling and the possible reasons associated with it, I see that I too often try to rush through life without acknowledgement of experience, struggle, or emotion.   On Friday I met with a new acupuncturist who is helping me with my healing process but also fertility. When going through my intake form she asked me a few times about stress levels in my life. I answered each question with, "Nah, I don't think I'm ...

Dynamite In the uneven lot, he walks slowly, the shuffle of a stroke, to the coffee shop door. I stay behind, don't want to rush him. I wait in line, "Good morning, Brian.  Coffee for here and two refills?" The man smiles, "Yes, please. "

The window, one large cloud, nowhere to go or float suspended near me.

  When I was a kid I believed that once you hit a certain age, maybe 30 or 35, a switch was flipped and you suddenly knew everything you needed to know about life.  How to pay the mortgage? Answered. How to deal with difficult or challenging situations? No need to worry. How to be happy? Pfft, so easy.   I also assumed that adults were done growing and learning, that they had every ounce of knowledge and wisdom that they needed. Adults always had the answers and were never fumbling for what to say, what to do, or how to act. In my young mind, adults didn't have to "work" on things, they were simply fully evolved. It sounded logical to me, in many ways that if I didn't have the answer to an obstacle or tricky question at 21, I would at 31.   One of the things I'm glad I was wrong about is the ability as an "adult" to continually improve and learn. At 39 I am working on so many things about myself. This task can be overwhelming and scary but it can als...

Found Poem That spark         in the early night RiffRaff         canvas transformed         listening artist         home back home

  I'm back! The past 9 days I've been off schedule, working extra hours and traveling.  I've visited Mary Todd Lincoln's childhood home, drank gin at a liquor distillery, and met a server named Sharon who brought me insight into what it means to connect with others.  More on that later.   For now, I'm getting used to writing regularly again.  It's only been a short time since I stepped away, but I feel like I'm fumbling and disconnected.   There is a neighborhood stray, a grumpy black and white cat, who we affectionately call Bing Bong.  He never comes up to our door but regularly visits our neighbor.  For the past year she has fed Bing Bong daily, patiently building a relationship with him and letting him know she can be trusted.  Slowly we've watched Bing Bong creep ever closer to our neighbor's door. Whenever we approach, he runs away, but he waits for our neighbor to appear. He's most likely only interested in food but he feels safe w...

No Hands On the way back from the library, I see him in my rearview mirror.   A red windbreaker, white hair, and faded jeans slowly move towards me.   The man sits upright on a ten speed, two triumphant arms in the air.   Like a child, he continues to bike past Dougherty Street and down the hill towards Lake Tomahawk.   I watch his achievement until he bikes out of sight.   I am the only witness to this small act.   On the way back to school, I drive towards the park, hoping to see the biker again, but he is gone.   Probably off to do some other trick of life.    I pull into the parking lot at school, walk into the classroom, and sit on the floor next to a student who is nine.   “I saw the coolest thing on my break today,” I tell her.   Her eyes light up, sure that I have a magical story to tell.   Something with punch, but I only have a lesson learned.   “I saw an older gentleman ride his bike today with no ha...

Untitled We stand in the dark kitchen. Next to me  you brush your teeth. We are silent.  We watch the window, the street lamps, and the sky. Clouds hang, touch the point of mountains that turn blue in the evening. Sporadic lightning turns the dry sky white, not as a warning, but a prompt.

Bookend sky, day, night. Same mountains, pale clouds, distance. Rest for what is done.

Start with the table smell of rye, dill, and coffee. My grandparents' home.

  I celebrate the beginning of a new year in August, not January.  A new school year is full of hopes and resolutions for me.  Some of these return every year; my resolution to be more patient, present, and mindful in the classroom.  I want to help students find what inspires and excites them, to greet each student, each day, with a fresh open heart.  In preparation, I go to bed early, take deep breaths, slow down, and trust that everything will be ok.  The doubts, however, are also always there.  Regularly I wonder if I made a lesson interesting enough, if I nagged the students all day to tidy up, or if I overlooked a sad face in the classroom.   In more ways than I can count, I am extremely lucky to have landed at the school where I teach.  Our small school is comprised of teachers and staff who genuinely care not only about the well-being of their students, but all of the students and their fellow co-workers.  I'm finishing up my Mo...

Median Pull That median, where I thought I'd end up      east and the actual place where I landed      west is what holds me today, into the night.

Even with pain,  our current president, loss, natural disasters, climate change, shootings in schools, a broken education system where kids lucky enough to have rich parents  get a good education but kids born into poverty get forgotten, asked to hurry up, are misunderstood. Even when we don't know who to ask for answers, we still smile at strangers, buy flowers for people we love, say when we are wrong and apologize, gather at coffee shops to find ways to help our community. We still sit beside friends when they are hurt, laugh during dinner, look out the window and get lost in thought.  Even in this world,     this world we continue  to try again.

Grocery Store Flowers The older gentleman at the grocery store, with a bunch of roses, walked to his car,     small spectacles,     white thinning hair, glanced at me and smiled slightly. Minutes later, another man,     suspenders, white t-shirt and jeans left the store. He held no bag of produce or ice cream but another bunch of flowers. This time, they were daisies. Each drove off and returned home with flowers for someone. And each became a reminder that there is still good.

  I am grateful for morning skies, streets where I have walked, artifacts from childhood, moments of nature, and the presence of healing.

The Sunflowers      (after Mary Oliver) The sunflowers in our school garden, are strong enough to hold the feet of three birds. Students gather at the window to watch the yellow and black birds eat seeds from the multiple brown circles. Their eyes,      raised, to witness.

  I've been stuck in my head lately and have had trouble snapping out of moods.  Then, a friend recommended a women's writing and tea circle that I attended yesterday.  I'm impatient but I also believe that things happen when they are supposed to.  As I sat in circle with a small group of women, drinking tea, and cutting out lines from famous poems and magazines to make a found poem, I felt like I was where I was meant to be.  Sometimes you need to leave your home to feel like yourself again.   I wrote pieces I normally wouldn't and created a found poem. I smiled, I met new people, and I slowed down.  You can get addicted to feeling this way, to being creative, to trying something new.  Most of all it was a reminder that I could feel this way.