Slice of Life #21 Challenge Day 12/#SOS Magic: Emma's Greetings

For the month of March, each day I am writing and posting a slice of my life, hosted by Two Writing Teachers. 

Slice of Life #21 Challenge Day 12:

Emma's Greetings

Meow. Meow. Meow.

It's the first sound I hear as I walk through the door. I have been gone all day at work. I imagine this is Emma's way of saying, "I missed you!" 

Meow. Meow. Meow.

As I sat down my school bag, Emma rubs against my legs. 

Meow. Meow. Meow.

I scan the mail, turn on the oven to roast some vegetables, and unpack my lunch. Emma conintues to rub against my legs.

Meow. Meow. MEOW!

Her cries crescendo. 

Finally, I pick up Emma, rubbing her ears and scratching under her chin. She nuzzles her petite face against my neck. I am rewarded by Emma's purrs.

"I missed you, too, Emma."

Today I’m joining an open community of writers over at Sharing Our Stories: Magic in a Blog. If you write (or want to write) just for the magic of it, consider this your invitation to join us.#sosmagic

Slice of Life #21 Challenge Day 7/#SOSMAGIC: What I Know For Sure

For the month of March, each day I am writing and posting a slice of my life, hosted by Two Writing Teachers. 

Slice of Life #21 Challenge Day 7:

What I Know for Sure

Recently, the phenomenal Ruth Ayres shared a recent writing invitation: 

What do you know for sure?

What do you know is true?

What do you know by heart?

I have been marinating these questions in my head for the past few days. I thought about writing about advice I've been given or sharing a list of things I love or penning a poem about beautiful surprises. I thought about sharing some of the lessons I learned during the time of COVID or what I learned about myself when I was going through my divorce. Yet, I kept talking myself out of those ideas. 

A few years ago, as I was working through some heavy personal problems (with the help of a therapist, trusted friends, my pastor, and through my own messy writing), I learned this important lesson: I am only in control of my own thoughts, my own actions, and my own speech. 

This has not been an easy lesson for me to learn. In fact, as a woman in my mid-forties, it is still a lesson that often needs reteaching. I gently need to keep reminding myself: no matter how fiercely I love someone or want a different outcome, I am only in charge of me.

In fact, I have had to make lists of what I have control over and what I do not have control over. Continually, I must remind myself: 

• I can pray for someone. 
• I can listen. 
• I am help support someone.
• I can write about it.
• I can talk about it.

Ultimately, I am only in control of me. This applies to my relationships, my work with students, colleagues, and work load at school, and even parenting my own children.

I can live and strive to be my best self. I can be responsible for my actions, what I say, and how I show up. That's it. This is what I know for sure.  

What do you know for sure? What do you know is true? What do you know by heart? 

Today I’m joining an open community of writers over at Sharing Our Stories: Magic in a Blog. If you write (or want to write) just for the magic of it, consider this your invitation to join us.#sosmagic

#sosmagic: The Power of Notebook Rereading

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#sosmagic: The Power of Notebook Rereading 

I'm reaching the end of my current writing notebook. Before I shelve that notebook and begin the next, one of my rituals is to look back and reread some of the things that I was thinking or noticing as I filled that book. I am almost always surprised what I discover; I forget things so easily. Remembering by rereading my writing often serves as an unexpected gift. Rereading this notebook was no exception - I was reminded of a recent surgery and my recovery period.   

In late November, I had carpal tunnel release surgery on my right wrist (my writing hand). In the first few days following my surgery, my wrist was swollen and bandaged. Although I had limited mobility in my right wrist, it was difficult to do the most simple things, like shower, put on shoes, or even open a convenience container of food. Yet I wanted to keep writing, so for a few days I wrote using my left hand. 

Below is a haiku I wrote shortly after my surgery (left-handed):

Carpal tunnel fix/
Icing, elevating hand/
Repeat new routine. 

Immediately following my surgery, I found myself full of gratitude for my body parts that worked well and didn't cause me pain. I was thankful that I could write or type using my left hand. During this time, I thought often about people who need to adapt to a sudden disability/pain and how challenging this must be. 

Three months after my surgery, I have full mobility again in my right hand and wrist. However, until I reread some of my notebook writing, I had forgotten how difficult the first few days following my recovery were. I am glad that I have a record of this time - a sharp reminder of how precious and sacred our bodies are.

#sosmagic:The Kindness of Neighbors

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                                                            #sosmagic:The Kindness of Neighbors

"Thank you so much," I said, my voice muffled by my scarf, winter hat, and hood. "I cannot tell you how much I appreciate this."

"No problem. It feels good to help someone else," my neighbor responded. 

On Thursday we were pounded with over six inches of heavy snow. As a single mom on a night when my kids were at their dad's house, the amount of snow that I needed to clear away was daunting. I had been working on shoveling my driveway. At that point I had been shoveling and sweating for forty-five minutes, and I was only about 1/3 of the way finished. 

"Thank you. Thank you. You will save me so much time," I said. 

He smiled, "I have had help from others at times, too. I am more than happy to help you out." He turned towards his blower.

"Wait..."

My neighbor faced me.

"I must confess. I feel a little guilty. I have a snow blower that a friend gave me last winter. It's been sitting in my garage because I am not sure how to use it. I am intimidated by mixing the oil and how to get it started. My friend mentioned that I can get a special kind of extension chord to make it easier to use. Seriously, I meant to try to get it figured out soon, but it just hasn't happened yet. I don't want to take advantage of your kindness." I looked sheepishly at my neighbor that I had only met once before.

My neighbor smiled again. "Ah! I can help you figure that out some time. Just ask." 

"That would be great."

He continued with his snow blower and finished clearing out my snowy sidewalks and apron. His thick mitten waved as he ventured back home.

My heart warmed with gratitude. Once again, I am humbled at how kind and generous people can be. 

#sosmagic: Generous Gifts

I’m joining an open community of writers over at Sharing Our Stories: Magic in a Blog. If you write (or want to write) just for the magic of it, consider this your invitation to join us.#sosmagic

#sosmagic: Generous Gifts

In the midst of a divorce last fall, I moved out. Suddenly, I found myself in a new neighborhood, in an empty rental house without a whole lot of furniture or household items. I felt lost in every way possible. 

I had begun a new journey. It was a journey that was was one of the most terrifying and painful things that I had ever experienced but necessary.

Friends, family, and colleagues helped make this transition more bearable and gifted me with all kinds of unexpected blessings. Beyond listening to me and providing a constant emotional support system, I received all kinds of gifts including a house full of furniture, hand -made quilts, house plants, baking pans, silverware, glassware, sheet sets, bicycles, a vaccuum cleaner, tools, and even a gently used lawn mower and snow blower. I was so humbled by all that people shared with me.

Now there is not a room in my house where I am not surrounded by the reminder that people went out of their way to help me when I needed it the most. Evidence of love and support is scattered throughout my house. 

The rocking chair, braided rug, floor lamp, and plant were all items given to me.

I will forever be deeply touched at all of these gestures of love.

Yesterday, as I was thinking about Ruth's invitation to consider the magic of words, I realized that many of my favorite words are connected with generosity. As I played around with lists of words in my notebook, I came up with the following Haiku, a bit of a tribute to some lovely words and for my appreciation for all who shared such amazing gifts with me:

Generosity -/ 

gifts shared. Meaningful gestures./

Community love.   

#sosmagic: Unexpected Supervision

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#sosmagic: Unexpected Supervision 

"Can I ask you a favor?" 

I stopped mid-walk, startled by a request from a stranger. I was on my way to meet my neighbor, Dave, for an early evening walk. 

"Sure," I cautiously replied. A middle aged man with two children walked towards me. The man and older child were walking their bicycles. The youngest child stood next to a bike resting on the sidewalk.

"My daughter's breaks somehow jammed. She cannot ride anymore. I gotta get this bike home so I can fix it." He explained.

"That's too bad," I responded.

"I need to get her bike back home, so I need to go back home and grab my van. Can you watch her for a few moments?" He barely waited for my response. Instead, he hopped on his bike, the other child following him. A small girl, donned in a unicorn bike helmet and brown cowboy boots faced me. Part of her ponytail was dyed purple. 

"Wait. What's her name?" I asked.

"V."

"My name is Trina." She looked up at me and smiled a toothless grin. 

"She's a good kid and will be no problem." The man left on his bike. The other child trailed after him. 

"Wait - I'll wait with her on my neighbor's porch." I pointed to Dave's porch ahead of us. 

What just happened? I thought. Although I live in a relatively safe community and a tight-knit neighborhood, it's 2020. I couldn't believe that a man that I had never met before was leaving me with his young child. I had never seen this child before. How did I agree to this? When did I agree to this? Why wouldn't he have just left the bike and walked home with her? What if he didn't come back? Doesn't he realize that we're in the middle of a pandemic? Did he somehow know that I was a teacher? Do I just look that trusting? 

Since I wanted to make sure this child and I were in highly visible space, V. and I waited on the plastic lawn chairs on my neighbor Dave's porch. First I pointed out the mourning dove's nest; next, I showed her where Dave and I found a fallen egg on his sidewalk. While we waited I told V. the few knock-knock jokes I knew. After I asked her how old she was, V. volunteered all kinds of information - where she attended school, her teacher's name, what grade she was in, and where she lived (including her street name and address). 

Dear readers, although I found it bizarre that I found myself supervising this strange child, V. was an absolute joy to talk with. It was the best part of my day.

One snippet of our conversation went something like this:

V: It's almost my birthday!

Me: That's great! When is it?

V: At the end of May. I'm going to be 7 years old.

Me: Oh. That's exciting! 7 is big stuff.

V: Uh huh. 7 will be so great. After that comes 8 and then 9. Then 10! You can do anything when you are 10!

Me: 10 is pretty great. Double digits.

V.: No more kid stuff. Maybe I can even get an iPhone. 

Me: Yeah, I guess you are pretty old when you are 10. How will you celebrate your birthday?

V.: I don't know. Cupcakes. With frosting. And cake. With lots of ice cream.

Soon after the birthday chat, V.'s dad appeared in his mini van. 

"Thanks for watching V.!" The side door of the mini van opened, and V. scurried to her dad's van. 

"Bye! Take care of the baby birds!" V. yelled as the van door closed.

The black mini van drove off. 

I hope he doesn't leave his daughter with random strangers often. It was an unsettling thought. 

Bewildered yet a bit delighted, I knocked on Dave's door and we began our previously scheduled walk. 

#sosmagic: Grotto Gifts

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#sosmagic: Grotto Gifts 

"You're getting a bit too close," D. gently reminds me and outstretches his long arm to make half of a "T". I raise mine to do the same. He is right. I veered too close to him. Again. We aren't six feet away from each other anymore. Even though we're walking outside, even though both of us have been homebound for weeks, even though we have not been around many other people except for the occasional trip to the grocery store donning face masks, we do not have enough distance between us. I move over on the trail, hiking on the unpaved part. D. moves beyond the other edge of the path. 

After over a month, I am still not used to social distancing.

My neighbor and friend, D., lives alone. When my children are at their dad's house, I am solo, too. For days at a time, D. is often the only person I talk to, face-to-face (through a safe distance, of course).  

"Check out that perfect tree hole." D. points to a stunning tree hollow. I gaze at the tree cavity. Suddently, a bit of yellow catches my eye.

"D.! See that in the grotto?"

One of my favorite local trails includes a series of long-ago neglected, abandoned grottos. The grotto ahead hosts a surprise: a small piece of art made from natural objects. It's a collage of forest treasure, including a collection of handwritten uplifting words. 

D. and I stand in awe. He hangs back while I explore the grotto art first. 

"I love this so much," I gush, "Look at all of the words on the sticks. Hope. Breathe. Comfort. Calm. I adore how these words are incorporated with beauty of nature."

I stand back while D. explores.

There are a few paper words scattered on the group, perhaps disturbed from the day's breeze.

The word hope is printed on the piece of paper I pick up with my glove.

D. picks up the piece of paper with the word peace written on it. 

"Should we take the words from this spot?" I inquire. Suddenly, I look around to see if anyone else is nearby. Yet, we are alone. 

"Well, I could use some peace, " D. responds.

"I can always use more hope." I share.

"Perhaps whoever created this envisioned that people would be delighted and honored in finding these words?" I suggest, captivated with the thought that others are comforted like I am in discovering found words. 

D. nodds. 

I place the small yellow paper in my coat pocket.

We continue to walk, six feet between us, on our path.