Connecting Funny Babies and Ferguson

Tags

babies, ferguson, glass, noses, outsiders, shapiro

Thanks for the quote posted today, TwoWritingTeachers!  I finally have a writing topic! (trumpet fanfare in the background)

“Writers are outsiders. Even when we seem like insiders, we’re outsiders. We have to be. Our noses pressed to the glass, we notice everything. We mull and interpret. We store away clues, details that may be useful to us later.” –Dani Shapiro

This quote reminds me of this beautiful, hilarious moment captured by my dear cousin:

What is it about babies that draws people in?  Being unbearably cute?  Exhibiting behaviors adults suppress? Living in the moment? One thing every person has in common with every other person on the planet is that we were all babies.  Not much else beyond that is exactly the same for each person.  This is important because common experience connects us as writers to the world at large.  To borrow Shapiro’s idea of writers being perpetual outsiders (with our noses are pressed to the glass), we are seeing, and I think, reflecting on what draws us together.   Perhaps not the exact same experience or moment in time, but more of the humanity of that moment.  The feeling.  The expression.  The attempts at connection.  I agonized over Michael Brown and the community of Ferguson for many reasons.  But I do not have that actual experience in common with anyone.  I don’t live in Ferguson. I’m not African-American.  I haven’t suffered injustice at the hand of others.  I haven’t lost a child.  I haven’t had my business destroyed.  I haven’t worried about losing my job or protestors becoming violent.  But in that writerly way, I imagined the tension and anxiety, I imagined the anger and frustration, I imagined the confusion, I imagined the fear- just by having my nose pressed to the glass and reflecting on what I saw and heard.  Some people say that if you weren’t there, you don’t know.  But I think that I do know something because, just like this sweet baby above is demonstrating, I took the risk of peering deeply into that moment with wide, open eyes, and I found that I am amazed by the courage, strength and resilience of my fellow human beings in those terrifying moments.  Until today, I didn’t feel as though I had the right to share any thinking on Ferguson, but thanks to Shapiro’s quote, I am reminded that being an outsider isn’t a waste- it’s an opportunity to observe, reflect and then connect with those on the other side of the glass.  I’m just beginning to do so.

Donkey in the Mud and other musings on being stuck

Tags

euphemisms, freewriting, SOL15, stuck, writer's block

Why am I having soooo much trouble writing today?!

In the last 15 hours, I’ve experienced the thrill of spring (with a balmy 71 degrees) and the frustration of ANOTHER “snow” delay (2 hours tomorrow-  but yay, sleep!), the delight of reading with kindergarteners and the perplexing questions offered by middle schoolers,  the toe exhaustion and blisters produced by my really cute wedges and the comfort and relief of my snuggly slippers,  the laugh of an old friend and the curiosity of a new one- so many potential slice of life topics, and yet, here I am- stuck. stuck. stuck. stuck.  I remember being about 17 years old and my high school English teacher telling me that when I was stuck as a writer, I should just write, “I don’t know what to write.  I don’t know what to write.  I don’t know what to write.”  Then, the ideas would just come.  Well, dear reader, don’t worry!  I won’t force you to endure the “I don’t know what to write.”  I will, however, share with you all the ways I can describe the word stuck:

held fast. blank. mired down. heavy bucket. Milkduds on my teeth. steadfast. glued to the spot. weighed down. indelible. concrete in the britches.  fastened stiff.  donkey in the mud. staunch.  wedged in.  rocks in your boots. Rock City’s Fat Man Squeeze. encumbered. gum on my shoe. hand in the pickle jar.

I’ll try again tomorrow during the “massive” one-inch snowstorm!!

Day’s End Approaching

Tags

comfort, family, home, poetry, SOL15

Here’s what I hear:

the cheer of elation from a television basketball crowd

the muttering growl of a pup being disturbed by a little boy

the kissy-kissy sound a little boy is making to aggravate the pup

the soft, muffled singing of a beautiful tween hidden away in her room

the deep voice of my beloved calling for children to get ready for bed

Here’s what I see:

the muted colors of my favorite paintings beckoning me to be inspired

the glaring light of a television keeping me from that very thing

the remnants of a delightful family dinner calling me to clear them away

two rumpled heaps of pup wrestling on the carpet

a silky cat stalking them from a far, waiting for the bravery to pounce

my favorite black rug wearing its daily coat of animal fur waiting to be vacuumed

Here’s what I smell:

the memory of my grandmother in the chicken casserole served for dinner

stinky boy feet and freshly showered girl as they come to kiss me good-night

warm vanilla, lemon and rosemary simmering nearby, releasing the day’s tension

the familiar fragrance of my beloved passing me by on his way somewhere

Here’s how I feel:

complete

Young Love

Tags

narrative, SOL15, tween, young love

I watched and listened closely as Genna sat, cross-legged, in the meadow-green grass near the neighborhood drainage ditch and laughed- a strange laugh I hadn’t heard before.  It was a bit tinkly, a bit brassy, but most of all, confident and loud.  She tossed her long, blond-chestnut hair over her shoulder marked with the thin strap of her white cotton sundress.  Jay and Jonathan, our Saturday afternoon guests, were also watching Genna closely.  I noticed how their eyes took in every single strand of hair that landed, perfectly-placed, on her bare, tanned skin.

I looked at my own bare shoulder- pasty-white and dotted with heinous brown splotches other call freckles.  I tried tossing my own hair, but with its short, red-turned-pool-water-green, split ends…the effect was less than memorable.  The boys didn’t even glance my way.

As Genna continued to hold her audience captive, I climbed to my feet and wandered over to the dewberry bushes.  My favorite summer fruit grew wild along the edges of the ditch and was a favorite lounging spot, not only for 7th grade girls, but all sorts of lovely, untamed creatures- birds, mice, chipmunks, rabbits and even deer.  The fruit itself was an adventure waiting to be discovered; sometimes, it was small and tart, other times, plump and sweet; you never knew just what you’d find as you inched your fingers delicately along the bramble-covered branches.

I began to pick a few berries to place in the bucket I’d brought.  A few, especially plump fellows, detoured their way into my mouth, and their sweet juiciness filled my senses with the aroma of summer.  A few in the bucket, a few in my mouth- now the bucket, now my mouth.  An eternity might have passed, but in this moment of heaven on earth, I’d never have known if indeed it had done so.

Another hand appeared next to mine wandering along the thorns.  I shyly glanced to my side, then up, up, up into the face of my chosen guest.  Jay was looking down at me with sky-blue eyes as a lock of stubborn hair fell across his cheek.  Time stopped.  Or was it just my heart?

Either way, I definitely stopped breathing until he said, “The best berries are hidden in the back.  They’re the toughest ones to find! Ouch!”  He brought out a handful of plump, ripe berries (and a few scrapes) and offered them to me.  “But, they’re my favorite.”

I took them in my hand, and feeling bolder than ever before, I touched one to his lips.  He smiled, opened his mouth, and as he bit down, the summer-sweet juice of the very best berry squirted directly into my eye!!  Holy Stinging Mother of All Berries!!  I was no longer blinded by Jay’s good looks, the steamy mirage of summer, or Genna’s perfect white sundress- just the blasted juice of that dang, toxic berry!!

I dropped the bucket and sank to my knees as I grabbed my eyes, watering profusely from the burn.  After a moment, Jay offered my the corner of his shirt which I gently used to dry my eyes, and oh yeah- my now-snotty nose- all thanks to the newly renamed Hellberry!

Wait! Did I really just do that?  Wipe my nose with his shirt?!

I dared not look at his face (maybe he didn’t see?!  please, oh please?), so I dropped his shirt and scooped up the berry carnage from around my knees, tossing them back into the bucket.  I felt the red sting of humiliation on my face.

Smiling, Jay said, “That adds a nice touch to my favorite shirt.”

He reached down, took my hand, and as he helped me up, I mustered the last dribble of dignity I had and laughed- a strange laugh I’d never heard before.  It was a little bit tinkly, a bit brassy, but most of all, confident and loud.  Jay laughed, too.

As we walked, hand in hand, back to our friends and favorite grassy spot, I tossed my hair once again over my shoulder and this time, I felt the sweet kiss of the sun on my freckled, summer skin.

In need of repair?

Tags

change, encouragement, narrative, perspective, poetry, point of view, SOL15

old house. old shoes. old self.

In need of repair.

broken faucet. broken hairbrush. broken heart.

In need of repair.

warped floor. warped clock. warped mind.

In need of repair.

Along comes a repairman.

the right tools. the right time. the right touch.

funny how things change.

Old houses have character!

Awesome vintage shoes!

Wrinkles and laugh lines testify to a life well-lived!

A new point of view

Save water and energy with this new model!

Cute new haircut!

Empathy and compassion grow through pain!

changes our voice

No such thing as a straight edge!

Time flies when you’re having fun!

Think outside the box!

to give value to the mundane.

Be the repairman for someone today.