Slice of Life (Two Writing Teachers)

Saving the best for last

/ Fran Haley / 48 Comments

Late in the evening, my husband and I are sitting in the living room watching TV, when all of a sudden he lowers the volume and turns to me.

He says: “You know I love you.”

“Yeeeesss…” I reply, a little bell of warning jangling in my mind. Something in his tone….

“Well,” he goes on, “I have something to tell you.”

Immediate thought: Something is wrong. A doctor has called with not-good news. Anything is possible. Since 2015 my husband has suffered much: the loss of an eye, heart attacks, cardiac arrest, two heart surgeries, a spinal fusion, and this past winter, heart ablation to treat arrhythmias that left him light-headed and out of breath…

What now??

My own heart begins to fail…but I have to ask:

“What is it?” The only thing worse than knowing is not knowing.

He pulls up a photo on his phone:

“What do you think of this?”

A puppy on a website? I’m confused. “Precious!” I say.

My husband looks at me for a moment. Then…

“He’s ours. I put a deposit on him three days ago.”

What I am hearing? Is this real? Am I dreaming?

And then we both begin to cry.

He knows how much I’ve been wanting a dog since our youngest moved out last fall and took Dennis the dachshund with him.

I know it isn’t fair to expect him to care for a dog when his strength is impaired and I’m at work during the day…and so I’ve tried to let go of my longing.

But ever since the ablation, he’s been strong. Energetic. Renewed.

He is ready.

We are ready.

Ready for the next chapter of this beautiful life God has granted us, with our boys married and settled nearby, with our granddaughters growing up, bringing us infinite joy and laughter. Ready to celebrate the milestones of my sixtieth birthday this spring and our fortieth wedding anniversary this summer. Ready to love a little golden-red animal in our golden years…

Favorite lines from Robert Browning come to mind:

Grow old along with me!
   The best is yet to be…

And so it came to pass, on Saturday while the granddaughters were staying with us, that my husband brought our baby home.

Our granddaughter, Scout, was so overcome that she cried.

Our granddaughter Micah’s reaction…glee.

—Exponential joy.

We named him Jesse. Hebrew for God’s gift.

In looking over the breeder’s information, I noticed a thing: Jesse was born on January 28… the day I was driving to work, feeling despondent, praying aloud to God for encouragement…and saw the eagle in the tree…

“Jesse” also means God exists.

My heart is too full for any more words.

I may not be writing many words for a while, anyway, as my hands are pretty full…

Here’s to the ongoing story of life, with all its golden glories shining through every challenge, and wonders untold waiting just around the bend.

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with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge
—we made it through, fellow Slicers!
I celebrate you all.
Joy to you on your journey.

Thank you, Writing Community

/ Fran Haley / 32 Comments

Dear TWT Writing Community,

On this next-to-last day in the March Slice of Life Story Challenge, I want to tell you what a profound gift you are.

Thank you…

For sharing your heart and your stories…some of which were difficult to share.
For standing by one another, offering solace, healing, and love, which helped to fill a crack or two in life’s broken places.
For sticking with challenge, knowing it fosters growth.
For stretching your writing wings as far as they’ll go, and discovering that, yes, you can fly.
For being a warrior angel on occasion, ready to defend a fellow writer wounded by the world.
For taking us places we’ve never been, and may not ever see, otherwise.
For sparking new insights, new tastes, new things to try, new goals…for keeping life fresh.
For celebrating the joys in each others’ lives.
For your humor.
For your sorrow.
For your courage.
For your encouragement.
For believing in yourself.
For believing in me.
For pulling each other onward and through.

I’ll say it again: I did not believe I had the stamina for the daily writing challenge this year. I decided not to do it.

Until the morning of Day One, when I woke up ridiculously early with my starved inner writer tapping on my heart…Hello! Hello! You cannot wait for sustenance. Seek it, and it will come. Open up! You will reget it if you don’t…

How right is my inner writer. Always.

Sigh.

I didn’t feel like writing, but I wrote. And kept on writing. Every single day.

YOU are the reason.

I drew energy and strength from you. From your comments, from your stories, from your experiences…from the sense of belonging, from the mutual desire to build each other up, from valuing and being valued by each other.

Writing is one thing; writing in community is everything.

Don’t we know it.

How much richer is my life, because of these last thirty days.

We are a shared story.

Thank you for every minute, every word.

I am so grateful.

Here’s to one day more ❤

Fran

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in honor of my fellow “Slicers” in the Two Writing Teachers March Slice of Life Story Challenge

Laugh for the day

/ Fran Haley / 19 Comments

I ordered a vintage bird ornament earlier this month. When I opened the package, I found this delightful little treat from the seller:

I offer some accompanying haiku:

I said to myself:
Self, what shall we write today?
Myself thought a bit.

Let’s not overthink…
we know we got this. Just write
something short and sweet.

That’s all for now, folks…you and yourselves have a sweet day.

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with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge

Remedy

/ Fran Haley / 15 Comments

another little slice of memoir

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Once upon a long, long time ago, I boarded a ferry with my dad and grandmother to visit her sister, my great-aunt Nona.

She lived so deep in the countryside that it felt otherworldly. An old, old place. Old unpainted house, old separate kitchen joined to it by an old porch, old outbuildings…old outhouse. The memory has lost much of its detail now, like an aged sepia photograph, fading and fragile.

What remains are the bright sunshine and the green, green grass where I ran and played while the grown-ups talked and laughed on the porch. They were having a great visit…until I ran through a clover patch and fiery pain seared my ankle.

Bumblebee sting. I collapsed in the clover, screaming.

The grown-ups leapt off the porch in a single bound.

I can’t remember Grandma’s reaction. She was typically soothing: I know it hurts, honey. I am sorry.

I can’t remember Daddy’s reaction. He was typically irritated: All right, calm down! Stop making such a racket.

But I remember Aunt Nona’s reaction.

Sweet-faced, graying black hair pulled into a bun, silver cat-eye glasses…she said to my father:

“Give me one of your cigarettes.”

He did.

She peeled the paper back, put the tobacco in her mouth, made a paste, and dabbed it on my ankle.

“That’ll take the pain away,” she said.

As for me (weird kid that I was), the sight of the wet brown clump on my ankle was nearly as horrifying as the sting. Now I sobbed and screamed.

Sometimes I question the details of this memory: Was that really a cigarette she chewed, or snuff? It was so long ago…but cigarette is what I remember.

And I remember my gentle Aunt Nona, kindest of souls, bearer of wisdom from the old days, the old ways, a humble woman who played piano by ear and composed her own hymns. She lived to be 101.

All these ages and ages hence, I marvel at her tobacco remedy and resourcefulness.

Just a little leaf of memory, now pressed and preserved here, before time finishes burning it away.

Image by jan mesaros from Pixabay

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with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge

The white feather

/ Fran Haley / 16 Comments

On a recent Sunday morning I pulled into the church parking lot, got out of my car, and found it lying right there at my feet.

A white feather.

Just one. No others anywhere in sight.

Now, I know there are legends about solitary white feathers and loved ones and guardian angels…I really didn’t have time to think about all that just then. Choir practice was starting and I had a Bible lesson to teach. No time to waste… I am not going to over-spiritualize this. I’ll figure out later where this feather came from…and I hurried into the church.

I promptly forgot about the feather.

Until, several Sundays later, when I was leaving the church and there, on the sidewalk right in front of me, was another white feather.

Now, I know there’s a law about not picking up bird feathers…but I couldn’t help myself.

I needed to know.

I took it to my husband, pastor of the church.

He was sitting at his desk in the study.

“Have you been seeing white feathers like this around here?” I asked, holding out the feather in my palm.

If he said no…I might have to consider those legends. Was I the only person finding a white feather — on two occasions now?

If he said yes…what kind of bird is shedding these feathers around the church? And why?

My husband barely glanced at the feather.

“Yes,” he said, finishing a note he was writing. “It’s from Mr. H.’s feather duster. He shakes it outside after he’s done cleaning on Saturdays.”

Glad I didn’t over-spiritualize…

with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge

Another reminder

/ Fran Haley / 17 Comments

another dictionary poem:

re·mind·er

/rəˈmīndər/

noun

  1. a thing that causes someone to remember something.
  2. the writing on the wall of a downtown strip mall.
  3. a much-needed message in the midst of challenge.

Message on the wall of a downtown strip mall
right in front of my parking space

And, a blitz poem:

Here in Mind

You’re stronger than you know
You’re still here
Here to to tell your story
Here to play
Play the day away
Play with words
Words have power
Words build worlds
Worlds without
Worlds within
Within the realm of possiblity
Within your reach
Reach for the sky
Reach and you shall grasp
Grasp at straws
Grasp the truth
Truth slices deep
Truth can set you free
Free to believe
Free to be
Be fair
Be kind
Kind to all
Kind of a mess
Mess up
Mess becomes art
Art of living
Art of healing
Healing the hurt
Healing one another
Another day
Another time
Time to sleep
Time to rise
Rise and walk
Rise above
Above the clamor
Above the earth
Earth gives and reclaims
Earth keeps turning
Turning to mush
Turning the key
Key to the map
Key change
Change direction
Change your mind
Mind over matter
Mind your words
words
matter

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with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge

Note: Here’s my dictionary poem from earlier in the challenge.
The blitz is meant to be quick bursts of thought. Here’s a link on how to create a blitz poem. The rules are a little complex, even for the title; but once you get going it almost writes itself.

I dedicate this blitz to my fellow Slicers.
❤

Rainbow reminder

/ Fran Haley / 14 Comments

a pantoum

At the rainbow’s appearing
just stop to savor;
all the cares of this troubled world,
you can endure.

Just stop to savor
how the light bends into glory.
You can endure
the storms of life.

How the light bends into glory!
Look up and be awed.
The storms of life
for a moment, disappearing.

Look up and be awed—
all the cares of this troubled world
for a moment, disappearing
at the rainbow’s appearing.

Rainbow over my neigborhood after a storm last week.
Note the forsythia beginning to bloom.

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with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge

Hey, Beaver

/ Fran Haley / 10 Comments

On Sunday I wrote a poem about my weekday commute being my “breathing place.”

The poem starts like this:

Along the road
among the trees
the wild things live
and wait for me…

That day, we had torrential rains in our neck of the woods.

The next day, as I drove to work, right smack in the middle of the road, a wild thing was waiting for me, all right.

Well, hey, Beaver:

Covered in mud and what looked like bits of bark, the Beaver considered me (or my car, anyway) for a moment before carrying on with its business. Building, I suspect. Possibly home repairs. Maybe it just needed a breathing place for a minute, too…a break from all the dam work.

(Sorry, y’all – couldn’t resist having a little pun).

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with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge

A poem of pride

/ Fran Haley / 10 Comments

On Wednesday, a team of students from the Aquinas College School of Education hosted the final March Open Write at Ethical ELA. Jacob Rottier, Bonfils Matenga, Zee Simpson and Brynn Reams offered this process for composing a “nonet of pride”:

  • A traditional nonet is written in nine lines – from nine syllables to one syllable. 
  • Today we will be writing in words instead of syllables.
  • You can either do 9 to 1 or 1 to 9 words.
  • Your nonet poem should reflect something you’re proud of. So you might have your first two lines be:

I
Am Proud

These young people wrote of their accomplishments, the attaining of their dreams, overcoming odds…beautiful inspiration, all the way.

I thought for a bit. What am I proud of? My sons. My granddaughters. My grandparents. My husband. I am fiercely proud of them all… how to choose just one? What about my work? A professional or personal achievement? Having lived this long? My banana pudding cake? It was kind of amazing…

I grew restless. Maybe I needed to write something unexpected, something different. Inspiration to write is sometimes just so elusive…

And then I knew.

My nonet of pride:

I’ll Say It Just This Once

I
am proud
of my writing
although it isn’t perfect
and doesn’t have to be…
it is always stirring inside me
waiting to be born, and I’m reborn
with the crystallization of every word from ideas
—this is me, living life exponentially, when I write.

My blog header. This theme happens to be called “Hemingway Rewritten.”

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with thanks to two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge

Dictionary poem

/ Fran Haley / 16 Comments

Katrina Morrison hosted the March Open write at Ethical ELA on Tuesday.

Her invitation: I am calling [this] a“Dictionary Poem.” If anything can define and expound upon the meaning of a word, it is poetry…pick a word to take apart and put back together in a poem. Begin with the dictionary definition of the word. Obviously, some words will offer multiple meanings. Craft your poem however you will. After the definition, expound upon the word’s meaning…the vicissitudes of life may direct you to write a haiku or a villanelle or free verse today.

I will NOT be attempting the villanelle again anytime soon; I wrestled that form to the ground on Saturday and haven’t recouped the stamina yet to give it another go. I went with an acrostic, because the word “shards” stays in my mind, and I keep turning it around and playing with it anyway, to find out all it wants to tell me. I love this word, so…the poem:

Defining

shard

  (shärd) also sherd (shûrd)

n.

1. A broken piece or fragment, as of pottery or glass.

2. Zoology A tough scale or covering, such as the elytron of a beetle.

—Dictionary.com

The Poet’s interpretation:

shards

plural

sharp-edged fragments of memory, or

seeking healing among remnants, despite suffering

Somewhere in the shattering
Healing awaits, disguised
As sharp points
Ready to draw yet more blood…
Dare to touch the memories. Discover
Scattered diamondlight, all around.

Image: beasternchen. Pixabay.

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with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge