Better Late (SOLSC 29/31)

 

I was doing so well, but now both Day 29 and Day 28 have slipped through the cracks.  I suppose that is what happens when you travel backwards in time — days go missing.  It’s like luggage at the airport.

Day 28 is gone because there was never time at the airport.  We dashed from one terminal to the next — constantly getting there just as they were boarding.

Day 29 is gone because I didn’t make time for slicing.  I rested and recovered from travel and time changes.

I am posting it late, but I am still posting!

It’s the Climb (SOLSC 22/31)

 

I sent a message to my CrossFit coach from the top of the Verona arena:

“Box step ups coming in clutch yo.”

I climbed each one of them.  It was made my easier by my work with CrossFit for two years.  My efforts were rewarded at the top by a beautiful view of the Verona streets below and a grand view of this ancient structure. It was not graceful like the stairs I had climbed just an hour earlier in the Palazzo della Ragione, but I was certainly much more proud of myself.  

 I snapped a photo and sent it to my coach.  She replied shortly before I began my descent:

Left: beauty stairs, Right: beast stairs

 

At My Mother's Feet (SOLSC 18/31)

My childhood was spent at my mother's feet, fidgeting as she put another braid in my hair.  

I never had the patience for hair like she did.  Whenever she visited the salon it always felt like it took hours to be done.  I can still remember kicking my feet against the hair dryer chairs (they looked like the kind of Sci-Fi contraption that would suck out your brain) waiting for my mother to have her regular color, cut, and style.  

Even now, she expects me to one day grow my hair out like her and give it the attention she does.  I don't have the heart to tell her that will never happen.

This is another post I wrote for a past Teach Write challenge that I felt was very fitting for SOLSC. 

Trivia Night (SOLSC 15/31)

I wanted to try something different.  Since this slice is about trivia, I have written it in the form of trivia questions.  Enjoy!

Q: How many years has the Vilonia AGATE program hosted a trivia night?

A: Three

Q: What was the name of last year's winning trivia team?

A: The Winners.

Q: Name the 8 members of that team.

A: Erica (me), Terina, Marion, Jessica, John, Tracy, Nathan, Brian

Q: Who answered most of the questions?

A: John

Q: How many rounds did they play?

A: 7 rounds

Q: What was the only question they got wrong?

A: The question about Robert DeNiro's baseball drama Bang The Drum Slowly.

Q: Which question did Erica provide the correct answer for that no one else did?

A: Ben Franklin as the first post master.

Q: Which round did Erica perform the best in?

A: The 4th round, naming secondary Disney characters based on silhouette. 

Q: How many points did The Winners wager for the final round?

A: 12 

Q: Name the three teams that tied in the final round.

A: The Winners, Take 3, and The Saltillo Stallions

Q: How many tie breaker questions did they end up having?

A: A ridiculous amount (at least four)

Q: What did The Winners place this year?

A: Third

Pick Up Sticks (SOLSC 14/31)

I am seeing more and more evidence of the beginnings of spring.  The itty bitty buds on the tree -- leaves just barely peeking out at the morning sun.  It's new life on a tree that was otherwise completely bare.  It still LOOKS bare until you get up close.  

Below, there is a smattering of sticks scattered around the base of the same tree.  It's old life shed from encounters with all of the wind and rain we have experienced in the past few weeks.  

I can't help but smile and remember a time when I myself was just beginning and the sticks I used to see everywhere in my pawpaw's yard.  The tiny buds remind me of my own tiny hands, clasped around the cool metal handle of a bright red wagon.  

In the summer, my pawpaw would set us out to pick up objects in his backyard -- I assume now that it might have been to help him have an easier time mowing.  I was accompanied by my sister as we dragged that wagon among the many trees of my pawpaw's backyard.  Every few feet we would stop and begin the process of picking up the trees' discarded items: sticks, pine cones, and green apples.  

Each would be tossed into the wagon and we would move on.  When we were done, my pawpaw always awarded us with some of his pocket change for our efforts.

Now, as I navigate the sidewalk with my dog, I have to resist the urge to stop and pick up some of the sticks.

Today's writing was inspired by one of the March Daily Writing Prompt from Teach Write.

Green Thumb (SOLSC 6/31)

This was a piece I originally wrote in June of 2022 for a Garden Party themed writing challenge (though Teach Write as usual).  I have not posted it to my blog before and wanted to do so now.  Especially since today is my dad's birthday and this seemed like a great way to honor and celebrate him!  The style of writing is called a "haibun" which is a form of poetry that combines prose and haiku.

Happy 62nd Birthday Dad!

Dusting This Off: Slice of Life 2023 Pre-Gaming

One of my favorite chores as a child was dusting.  

I would gather up each knick-knack, doodad, and trinket and gently place them in a pile to the side of wherever I was to dust.  Then, I would spritz the dresser or table or desk with Pledge Furniture polish.  The burst of lemon would make my eyes water a bit, but I would quickly wipe the lemon-scented residue away with the tattered cloth my mom had long ago designated the dusting rag.  

It made me happy to see the furniture glisten afterwards -- the scent of citrus still in the air.

I don't dust nearly as much any more and I'm afraid I've let far too many things grow dusty with neglect: my apartment, my classroom, and now this blog.  I think I can live with my furniture gathering dust a little while longer, but not my blog.  Not with the Slice of Life Challenge starting tomorrow!

I may not be able to take a can of Pledge to an online platform, but I can pledge to show up for this year's Slice of Life Story Challenge and take up blogging once more.  Specifically blogging for a personal reason and not just blog posts for Teach Write!

If nothing else, I could certainly use some of that citrusy scent in my life, but I will settle for the familiar logo: 

Three Times I Said Shit (Without Thinking)

The first time was in elementary school.  I was at a good friend's sleepover and we were playing a loose game of either hide and seek or tag.  I had tucked myself beneath some large pillows and out of nowhere another girl ran in and body slammed me and my hiding spot.

"SHIT!"

There was a gasp of horror and the room fell into silence as several little girls processed what had just happened.  One of the girls squeaked that they were going to tell on me and I ran.  I cannot say if the tears in my eyes were from embarrassment, betrayal, or pain.

I hid myself in a closet -- terrified and guilty.

Skip ahead a decade or so and now I'm an adult working with teens.  My teacher neighbor is a woman with high energy and no boundaries named Heather.  She was constantly flouncing into my room (if I left the door unlocked) and chatting with me and my students.  If I did remember to lock the door against her, she would only knock loudly and I'd let her in anyway.  It may sound bad, but she made us all laugh with her antics and it was usually not in the middle of class so I never minded the disruption.

On one particular day, the class and I were getting ready for quiet reading time.  I had claimed a spot in the back -- I used to love reading among the students instead of behind my desk -- and we were settling in for the last 20 minutes of class to read.  The classroom was quiet, pin drop quiet, as we all settled into the pages of our books.

Then, at the back of the room, came a loud BANG.  

For context, I believe the news had recently been reporting on a school shooting and I was on edge.  The banging on my door was a sound I had been taught to dread.  My mind immediately went to the worst case scenario: someone was trying to break down my door and shoot us!

"SHIT!"

My attention immediately snapped to the door and there I found not the face of a killer, but the killer grin of my notorious teacher neighbor, Heather, as she pressed her face against the glass window of the door.  She waved: "Hello!"

I groaned and mentally uttered a few more curse words for her.  Before I let her in, I apologized to my students, but unlike the temperamental elementary girls, they were more understanding.  After all, her sudden appearance had startled them as well.

And then there was last week.  We had been sent an email that we were to expect a lockdown drill that day.  When the announcement came, I instructed my students to get the lights and to be quiet.  I thought the doors were already shut and locked, but as I watched one of my students venture to the tissue box it hit me.  The doors were locked, but the magnetic strip allowing for easy entry was still in place.

I knew administration was wandering the halls, checking rooms at random, and without thinking I stumbled across the room:

"OH SHIT!"

I did not trip, but I felt like I was in a horror movie, afraid the killer was going to push against the door just as I tried to secure it.  It was a drill, but all I could imagine was the real scenario and how I had just wasted precious seconds securing the room.  I cracked the door, slipped the magnet strip out, and closed it again.  

Luckily, no administration was nearby, but I did have to then deal with a gaggle of giggling teens reassuring me that it wasn't that serious.

It was, but I hope my antics at least eased some of the tensions from having to practice such a drill.

Could I have been more professional?  Yes, but when you are dealing with people's lives I think a few choice words are permitted.

Weapons of Mass Wackiness

At first I thought it was an errant Cheeto puff, but the ping-pong sized orange ball rolled across the sidewalk when I nudged it with my toe.  It stood out not only because of the color, but because it was a disruption to my morning routine of walking my dog.  I bent over to pick it up, curious as to its textured surface: pockmarked and squishy.  

Now that I was holding it, it reminded me less of a Cheeto puff or a ping-pong ball and more of a rubber bouncy ball.  The kind commonly found in quarter machines or in dentist office treasure chests.  A reward for proper brushing dropped carelessly by a child as they headed inside yesterday?  Maybe. 

I threw it down, watched it bounce high once, and then -- roll away.

#SOL21 | 24 | Cooper's Three Stop Field Trip

Hi!  My name is Cooper and I'm a dog.  I had a busy day today because my mom took me to not one, not two, but THREE different parks.  

I didn't pay attention at first as she prepared food in the kitchen, though I did start to get suspicious when she packed food and a book and a metal box in her backpack.  Usually that's what she does when she is going to work and about to put me in the kennel.  I started following her around, hoping to remind her that she shouldn't leave me!  We were doing so good this week -- I thought we had finally broken the cycle of putting me in the kennel.  It looks like she was backsliding though.  Again.

Luckily, it must have worked.  She slipped on her shoes and put my leash on me and we headed out to the car.  

#SOL21 | 23 | Modes of Transportation

I wasn't sure what to slice about at first.  However, when looking for inspiration I found a question about the modes of transport I've used.  I didn't want to just list them, so instead today you are getting three memories related to modes of transportation and one memorable mode of transportation that I don't remember.  Enjoy.

#SOL21 | 21 | A Slice for my Sister

My dad likes to make a joke "We should have stopped at one."  Usually this is reserved for when my much younger siblings -- Julia, age 21, and Jared, age 18 -- slip up.  But if he had "stopped at one" I would not have DeAnna in my life.  At one point I used to laugh and hold up my finger in solidarity.  But as I have grown closer to DeAnna, I have started to correct him.  "No...though maybe two."

Because I cannot imagine a life without DeAnna in it.

#SOL21 | 17 | Sideways into Writing

Today's slice was the culmination of a few challenges.  And so I want to preface this by mentioning those challenges that led to the creation of the piece I'm about to share.

First, it was yesterday's #10min10days challenge with Tammy B.  The prompt was to write for 10 minutes starting with the phrase "Right now..." and then look back at what you wrote and look for sparks.  My writing happened outside on my patio and focused on the usual sights and sounds with the occasional intrusive thought.  And then, source unseen, I picked up on the smell of cigarette smoke.  

As soon as I smelled it I was reminded of my Grandma Sug and I wrote about how I hadn't actually sliced about her before.  By now I've written plenty of slices about both of my mom's parents, but not my dad's and definitely not my Grandma Sug.  That was interesting to me, but at the time I just let it sit in my notebook.

And then today I visited EthicalELA's final Open Write invitation for the month I saw that the prompt was Backwards Poetry.  Katrina Morison provided examples there, but then also suggested when trying this form of poetry to "...take on change. Deal with something that is or needs to be turned around. Then, the form will truly reflect the content of the poem."  The aspect of "change" really struck me and after having written about my Grandma Sug yesterday. I decided to not only write a poem about her, but also dedicate this slice to her as well.

It was after I had written the poem that I realized it could also serve as a slice -- but I didn't want to just post the poem without some context and backstory.  Which brings us here and now to today's SOL post.  That's three challenges woven together for one blog post.  Pretty impressive I would say.

#SOL21 | 13 | Inside the Box

March 13 - 17 is Open Write over at Ethical ELA and so today's slice was inspired by the prompt there: "Weddings at Recess."  After reading the prompt and the example, I was immediately taken back to the summers I spent in the care of my grandma.  The grandkids -- usually me, my sister, and my cousin -- would take over an entire room off of the living room.  

It was appropriately called "The Play Room" because it was where we were allowed to play, spread out our toys, and do all the things kids love to do when given free reign of a place.  This was where all the toys were kept, as well as the children's books, dress-up materials, and whatever else our young hearts could desire.  Funny enough, it's not the toys I remember well, it was the cardboard boxes our grandma would bring home.  So this slice is about that.

#SOL21 | 07 | Penpals

Yesterday, I returned home to find a letter in the mail.

One aspect of the pandemic that I have not minded so much is this resurgence of meaningful mail.  There's just something so nice about finding something in my mailbox that isn't an underwear catalog, a bill, or a coupon for a local pizza restaurant.  

Don't get me wrong, I love my discounts too, but I know the time it takes to pen these notes and letters having sent several myself in the time since this all started.  It's not as easy as typing and hitting 'Send.'  You have to go through the process of obtaining stamps, setting aside a portion of your day to write, and then walk it out to your mailbox.  That's not even taking into account the time you have to set aside to purchase cards, stationary, or envelopes on which to write.  But that time is a sign of love, captured forever with ink and paper.  

Most of these missives are one-offs, but still meaningful.  After a bout of card sending in October, I turned the tables and asked all my friends and family to send me Birthday cards in November. Boy did my friends and family deliver on that one!  By the end of the my Birthday month I had received enough cards to fill my kitchen table -- a tangible and constant reminder of their love.

I found myself wanting more though -- more interactions that were equally meaningful and methodical.  

Jump to a few weeks ago when a member of my writing group (Cheryl) asked if anyone wanted to be pen pals.  I eagerly replied "Uhm...YES!" and now here we are when I opened my mailbox on March 6 to find a letter waiting just for me.

As I slid it out of the mailbox I was both surprised and a little intimidated by its weight.  I opened it to find Cheryl had sent me a card plus three hand-written pages of stationary!  I had not been expecting that much, since up until now most of my snail mail exchanges had been contained to cards. 

That's when it hit me that this was going to be an actual pen pal with letters documenting our thoughts and lives.  I knew I had to sit with that for a bit.  That didn't stop me from quickly reading the note and three pages though.  However, after reading it I put it away and went to bed so I could write my own response with a fresh mind (and fresh fingers) the next day.

I may have been intimidated at first, but as I started penning my response I realized that I was going to write JUST as much as she did.  I don't want to say here what we wrote -- that's not as important and it's between us -- but I will say it was thrilling to get to write a letter to someone whom I have never met in person and who lives miles and miles away.  

Not only did it inspire me to slice about it, but it actually made me remember my first official pen pals that I obtained through a student program back in 1999-2000.  They were from even farther away than Cheryl: Yuka from Japan and Jessica from France.  Writing this slice and finishing my letter, I decided to see if I even still had anything left from our exchanges over a decade ago.  

Digging into my closet I found more than I expected to: letters, envelopes, bits of stationary they had mailed me, and even a photograph of Jessica's dog, Maya.  What scraps of paper written by 12-year-old me exist in the shoebox buried beneath a bed in France or folded into an album somewhere in Japan?  Or were they lost a long time ago just like our connection -- a fire, flood, or just a simple purging of papers?  Are they thinking about me as I think of them?  Do they even remember having a pen pal from the far off place of Arkansas?

Funny how this all started because I got a letter in the mail yesterday.

#SOL21 | 06 | Dad's Car Wash Song

There are many things I associate with my dad: coconut, unsweet iced tea, blue choir robes, snow coming down in March and car washes.  

I don't necessarily remember this, but apparently when I was very small I used to be afraid of going through the car wash.  Perhaps it was the noise or the impossibly large brushes that descended upon the car like a monster's claws -- whatever the reason I was terrified.  I would cry and squirm in my little car seat.  I've been told that sometimes one of my parents would get out of the car with me while the other one went through the car wash alone.

Eventually, my dad made up a song that helped make it easier for me to handle.  This is what I remember:

Swish swish 

(His hands would move along with the words, a pair of pointer fingers turned windshield wiper blades.)

Swash Swash  

(Now his hands would go the other direction.)

Now we're at the car wash

(Clapping hands.)

Car wash! Car Wash! CAR WASH!  YEAH!

(And now jazz hands, with each cheer bringing his arms higher or wider until the end).

Actually, calling that a song seems a bit generous -- but it still helped and it's stuck with me all these years.  If there's more to the song, I don't remember it now.  But that little ditty and apparently the classic "Great Balls of Fire" were enough to calm me down when I was upset at the thought of the car wash.  I guess music really does soothe the soul...

A Collection of Poems: Ethical ELA February 2021

Every month I try to participate in Dr. Sarah Donovan's Open Write hosted on EthicalELA.  Despite getting wonderful feedback for this writing, I never thought to collect it in one place until now.  Since this blog will be dedicated towards my writing -- especially of the poetry and narrative nonfiction variety -- I thought it best to start things off with my poetry from this month's Open Write.  

While I did not post every day, I have collected for you the two poems I did share, as well as links to the original invitation so that there is some context for what I have written here.

Sonnets (Don't Run Away)

The Ace’s Valentine Sonnet
I always hated that English has one word for love.
How do I capture the differences?
A love that varies in scope, scale, and even texture:
From the tiny, hard seed tucked away to the hearty, warm bowl of soup.

I always hated that Valentine’s was for couples.
What happened to passing cards through card board slits?
My love expressed on chalky hearts and candied puns.
From your best friend or from your mom, spilled out and sorted later.

But this is what it means to be Ace on Valentine’s Day.
A quest to reclaim a holiday for all expressions of love —
A love not limited by sexual attraction and romantic entanglements,
From red and white to purple and black.

I am not your normal Valentine, but I am still valid.
I will not deny my asexuality any longer.

Let's Meet Somewhere (Diction)

When Asked Where to Meet Next 
Let’s meet somewhere
below the gentle shade of giant
tomato stalks and zucchini vines
the dirt cool on our backs as the sun bursts overhead.

Let’s meet somewhere
along the crooked cliffs of the creek
chalk lines drawn before a storm
on the precipice of childhood.

Let’s meet somewhere
among the black-green weeds
of twilight farms giving way
to fireflies or stars we captured in glass.

Let’s meet somewhere
that slips between our toes
filling cracks unnoticed and unseen
a heart warmed like two hands around your favorite mug

Let’s meet somewhere
between the playground woods we explored
and the backyard wilderness we dismissed
that time between early snow days and midsummer nights.

Let’s meet somewhere
under your next dream or perhaps
behind the gap in my memory
as long as it’s sometime before soon.

 Alternate Names (a List)

Alternate Names for a Writer
1. that peach pit anchored between your heart and gut
2. a pen twirled restlessly between chewed nails
3. scratch, scratch, scratch to find the words, words, words
4. a pillow behind the back, easy now
5. the spider pulling threads at the center — to create and catch
6. eyes bright reflecting flickering candles
7. cracked fingers, cracked spine, release