A few days ago I wrote about my dad and I referenced very specifically "blue choir robes." Colleen asked me for more about those and, instead of answering in a comment, I thought it appropriate to use as a slice in the future. After all, I'm always telling my own students to get ideas from the comments people leave on their blogs.
Then during notebook time with my students today I worked on a rough draft of that slice -- knowing I would get to type it all up this evening. Wasn't I smart to work on the slice in advance instead of frantically typing it?
I paid careful attention to my details, trying to capture the memory and what I enjoyed about the choir robes, being in the adult choir with my dad. Trying to recall what it was like to have an actual choir in an actual church -- both things I have gone without for so long now. It made me reflect on how not only has my relationship with my dad changed, but so has my relationship with church.
I was excited to share that slice with you all, but unfortunately this is not that slice.
Because while I was gathering my things to leave, I managed to remember to grab my winter coat (it's warm in the afternoons, but still chilly in the mornings) but not my notebook. I grabbed the thing I wouldn't need until tomorrow morning, but forgot to grab the one thing I would need this evening.
I feel more naked without my notebook than I do my coat! Ugh! Of all the things to leave behind. I hope you will forgive me, notebook -- you will not have to be alone for long.
So this is not the slice about blue choir robes, this is the slice about the tragedy of forgetting one's writer's notebook. A piece of me left abandoned and alone on a desk in a darkened classroom.