Grace upon grace

/ Fran Haley / 7 Comments

Yesterday Leilya Pitre opened the March Open Write over at Ethical ELA with an invitation to compose poetry inspired by the Ides of March.

The Roman calendar confuses me, with all the backward counting. An “ide” is one day before the middle day of the month. For March, that’s the 15th – yesterday’s date. Leilya gave several poetic form suggestions: villanelle, free verse, limerick. She prompted participants with a choice: 1) Write with “an air of inevitability and doom…mirroring the idea of a foretold fate,” or 2) “Write a poem that celebrates a moment of change or transformation, akin to the original meaning of the Ides of March as a day of transition in Roman history.”

A day of transition…hmmm.

Change.

What needs to change more than the human heart?

I confess to wanting to run for my life at the idea of writing a villanelle (see how much the very word looks like “villain”?). The form is deadly! And there’s only one Dylan Thomas. Nobody else can rage, rage at the dying of the light quite like him. And so I opted for free verse, my default form.

Crickets. Nothing. No ideas on ides.

And so I returned to the villanelle – drat it all! – with “an air of inevitablity and doom,” for sure.

But then: Two repeating lines came to me. I started a rhyme search. A villanelle takes a pile o’ rhyming words. Not all of them will work. One of my favorite images re-materialized in my head: the “golden rim.” Yes. Let us drink from the golden rim of the goblet…no, chalice. Yes. What are we drinking, and why? What’s the point? What does it mean?

Have you ever heard that what you need is there, right within your reach, if you just look?

In this case, what I needed was literally right there within reach: the bracelet on my wrist. You’ll see.

Here’s the poem. Still tinkering with it.

Gratiam pro gratia

As evening descends in shadows dim
Let’s toast to ceasefire of life’s fight:
Drink, my love, from the golden rim.

The face of the morrow will be less grim
—See, our ashen embers retain the light
As evening descends in shadows dim.

Toss off your cloak with fraying trim.
Kneel by me, pray, well we might—
Drink, my love, from the golden rim.

There sparkles yet a priceless gem
Within the pocket, glittering bright
As evening descends in shadows dim.

Hold my hand — let’s sing a hymn
Before we take our earthly flight.
Drink, my, love, from the golden rim.

Sweet chalice of life, abrim,
Despite this darkest night…
As evening descends in shadows dim,
Drink, my love, from the golden rim.

My poem’s title is Latin for the words on my bracelet. An excerpt of John 1:16: from the fullness of Christ, we have received “grace upon grace.” I wear it as a reminder to give grace, having received it in such abundance. I purchased the bracelet at a coffee shop called Charis (“Grace”) which has a wall plastered with customers’ prayers written on tiny slips. The owners donate a portion of proceeds to organizations that are working to make the world a better place. Our time here is short. Let us be about this work, in communion with one another, giving each other grace.

*******

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

Magical treats

/ Fran Haley / 18 Comments

My room at school is kind of magical.

It’s decorated with a Harry Potter theme. I have a Diagon Alley backdrop behind my desk. Whenever I sit there to catch up on email, I blend in; people entering the room don’t even realize I’m there. When I speak, I startle them – next best thing to a Cloak of Invisibility!

Children from all grade levels, kindergarten through fifth, love to come by to look at my books and memorabilia. They share what they know about the series. They ask questions. They tell me which Hogwarts house they belong to (Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin) and which houses their moms belong to. Always the moms. Every once in a while, a child will bring me a gift, like a Harry Potter pencil or sticker: “When I saw this, I thought of you, Mrs. Haley!”

My colleagues have done the same. I have been given a Hedwig owl hairclip, a Hagrid birthday cake topper for my water tumbler straw, Harry, Hermione, and Ron Pez dispensers, assorted little figurines, and Harry Potter Hershey’s Kisses (yum!).

These are more than random acts of kindness. They are gestures of love, and they humble me.

In the last couple of weeks, more magical treats materialized. A volunteer gave me Harry Potter gummies:

Note the word Alohomora! in the upper right corner: Open!

A colleague gave me a bag of Harry Potter Butterbeer Goldfish:

The moral of the story here is much like that of the series itself: It’s not really about magic, wizards, or witches. All that is just the backdrop. The real message is that sacrificial love and friendship – along with the courage to stand up for what is right – are more powerful than fear, hatred, and evil.

Thank you, precious gift-bearers, for the timely and delicious reminders.

*******

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

Portrait of the artist as a young girl

/ Fran Haley / 18 Comments

She is nine
granddaughter mine
drawing, day by day,
the world, her own way

The expression
of every impression
reveals the intensity
of her scrutiny

Details of the whole
spark her young soul
-young Artist, can you see
the world you are to me

A sketch of my bird figurine by my granddaughter, Scout

My beautiful artist. One of my favorite photos.

*******

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

What a howl

/ Fran Haley / 10 Comments

Buddy the beagle is the newest addition to my son’s and daughter-in-law’s menagerie.

He came to them as a stray, eating out of their trash. They had to coax him into trusting them.

He’s now a proud member of the family, a wild ball of love and need, willfulness and contrition, and, above all, insatiable appetite.

He is learning to play.

Here’s a video of Buddy showing off his best howl, on command:

Gotta love him ❤

*******

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

Absence

/ Fran Haley / 26 Comments

As many of you know, I write a lot about birds.

Every March, I write specifically about the house finches which build a nest in my front door wreath. They have done this for years, except for 2020 during COVID-19, strangely. They built a nest in the wreath that year but never laid eggs.

This year my husband put his foot down: Enough. We haven’t been able to open our front door or enjoy our porch every spring and summer since I don’t know when. Don’t let the birds build a nest in that wreath.

I knew a pair of little finches had been already been eyeing it, however. I have heard them “talking” out there on the porch in their singsong voices. They didn’t seem to like this wreath, really: it’s a winter one, still up from Christmastime.

I should have taken it down a while back. I knew better than to put out a spring wreath, for, against my husband’s wishes, it would become a finch nursery. I would be a frenzied Franna again, roping off the porch to keep the babies safe. I wasn’t always successful. Some babies died in the nest, and I grieved as I removed it. The parents carried on, rebuilding in no time, laying more eggs.

Naure is astoundingly resilient.

I’d also take the granddaughters out for an occasional up-close glimpse of tiny new life coming into the world. I would marvel at the parents’ unfailing care of their young. I would hear their songs, the most beautiful trills and warbles. It’s a pure, sweet, glorious song. The sound of joy.

Yesterday I noticed that the finches had started a nest in the wreath…they are so stealthy about it!

Today my husband took the wreath down (because I couldn’t).

I understand. I do. It’s a pain to keep the front of the house roped off for months – yes, months – at a time, for these prolific little songbirds.

Yet it always felt like a gift, to have them here and to provide shelter for them, so that more beauty could fly out into the world.

I am bracing myself for the finch’s discovery of the disappeared wreath. They planned on having their babies there. I do not think I can bear the sound of their sweet voices asking Why?

But as yet, there is no sound from the porch. The sun is very bright this morning, and I hear all sort of birds in the distance.

I expect my finches will rapidly find another place to build. I pray they do. The world needs more of these little creatures who were never supposed to have survived in the first place. House finches were released in the wild years ago by unscrupulous pet shop owners. The house finch didn’t die out; it proliferated.

It’s just that, in this moment, the silence, their absence, is an ache in my heart.

There’s no way to tell the finches that I am sorry. Or how much I love them. Not so they’d understand.

And so I write.

What I know is…no matter what, they go on, singing.

House finch pair. Birdman of Beaverton. CC BY-SA 2.0.

*******

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

Squirrel

/ Fran Haley / 10 Comments

Today’s WordPress prompt: Which animal would you compare yourself to and why?

Yikes. This could take awhile.

However…yesterday afternoon I had a dentist appointment, and this creature was sitting on the fence as as I pulled into the parking space:

“Well hello, Squirrel,” I say from the driver’s seat.

The squirrel does not move.

I take a picture of it with my phone.

The squirrel does not move.

The wind is kicking up, rain starts spattering…

The squirrel does not move.

It watches me as intently as I’m watching it.

I note the right paw raised, perhaps in readiness to flee…

Which is what the squirrel does, as soon as I look away to reach for my purse, for in that fraction of a second – poof! – it is gone.

So, back to the WordPress prompt: Which animal would you compare yourself to and why?

I wouldn’t have thought to compare myself to a squirrel, but since one came to me, and since I have no idea of what else to write about today in the March Slice of Life Challenge, I will consider how the squirrel and I are alike. Isn’t this a hallmark of the writerly life, using everything that comes your way?

Here’s what I found with a bit of research:

Squirrels are preparers.

Squirrels are resourceful.

Squirrels can symbolize that it’s okay to forget and move forward.

Squirrels can symbolize that life’s blessings can take root in unexpected ways.

I never expected to discover such a kinship with the squirrel.

I am also captivated by the etymology of “squirrel.” Derived from Ancient Greek, it means shadow-tailed.

Squirrels use their beautiful “shadow” tails for balance, a warm cover against the cold, a means of communication, and even in expression of emotions. They flick their tails when alarmed, happy, and frustrated.

Symbolically speaking, the squirrel’s tail can represent the past (as a “shadow” behind the squirrel, which is attached to it, and follows it).

Think on that awhile. The shadows of the past…ever with us.

Haunting? Not necessarily. As someone who likes dabbling with memoir, I find unexpected riches in writing about the past. A cache of courage. A hallowed hoard, even in the darkest places.

In those shadows, I find the first book I can remember being read to me… here I am, a toddler, sitting on my grandmother’s lap, listening to the playful rhyming lines in a book about…squirrels.

Thank you, Squirrel, for being here.

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

Lobster power

/ Fran Haley / 9 Comments

The children notice it right away:

The giant lobster on top of the cabinet in our Heroes’ Hangout reading space.

They are elated:

Look! A lobster! Why is it here? Where did it come from? Look! He has hearts on his cheeks! He’s so cool!

Truth is that a colleague gave the lobster to me when she learned that I sometimes let the smallest, wiggliest students hold onto a stuffie “friend” so they can focus on listening to their volunteer reading a book to them.

But this is what I tell these second graders:

He’s a reading lobster. He wanted to be here in the Heroes’ Hangout.

This sets them off again: What’s a reading lobster?

Well, Friends, you will have to decide that for yourselves… why would a lobster like reading?

More chatter. We may never get to the lesson.

A few days later I remember a hat I have at home. Perfect for the lobster!

I bring it to school and put it on his head.

The kids notice right away: Look! The lobster has a hat! It says ‘Fight Evil, Read Books!’

That’s right, Friends. Maybe he’s a Superhero Reading Lobster.

Maybe we will create a Superhero identity for him and a backstory and possibly write some adventures starring our Superhero Reading Lobster who fights evil by reading books…I mean, anything is possible after Dog Man…

But for now, when my group of second graders finishes their guided self-portrait lesson with me in the Heroes’ Hangout, I say: All right, time to put away your materials and line up at the lobster.

They form a quiet line.

I say, Bye, Friends. Lobster power all the way.

All eleven kids jump up to touch the lobster as they pass by. I watch them walk down the long hallway to their classrooms in a straight line, without a sound.

Not one student has ever asked what I mean by “lobster power all the way.”

That’s how powerful our lobster is.

*******

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

For more about the Heroes’ Hangout, click here.

Bird’s head

/ Fran Haley / 21 Comments

The morning of January 28. Almost seven o’clock. Driving to work in the lowest spirits I’ve had in a long time.

Several factors contribute to this. Usually I can find ways to redirect my thinking, but this morning I cannot. Tired, melancholy, self-worth ebbing…I don’t have strength to face the workday.

Driving past barren fields, icy ponds, old tobacco barns, and rural homes with white smoke rising from chimneys, I say aloud, “God, I could really use encouragement today.”

Rounding the next bend, I see a lone tree in the otherwise empty field. In the naked branches of the tree sits an enormous buzzard, its back to me.

I amost pay it no mind, except to think That’s a really big bird.

Just as I am passing, the bird turns its head in my direction…oh, what I’d have missed if I hadn’t been looking!

Stunned, I begin to cry.

Sometime later I capture the moment in a double etheree:

Bird’s Head

My
prayer
is for strength
as I drive round
the bend in the road
where a lone, lifeless tree
stands stripped in a barren field.
Perched there in those gnarled old branches
is a huge buzzard. It turns its head
just as I pass…a white head, shining like
fresh snow in sunlight, brilliant to blinding
…a bald eagle, enduring winter,
keeping watch high above the earth.
Jolted by this fierce response
I drive onward, sobbing
for the provision,
newfound courage
singing wild
in my
veins.

An old eagle sketch of mine

*******

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

Note: The eagle was still in the tree that afternoon and over the next couple of days. I’ve learned that eagles do this in winter, to conserve energy. Its presence was exactly the energizing spark I needed to rise above: “Courage, dear heart…”

Face value

/ Fran Haley / 11 Comments

My three-year-old granddaughter, Micah, has finally experienced enough snow to make a snowman.

Two snowmen, in fact. Five weeks apart.

The first snow really wouldn’t pack, so we ended up with a little heap of snowdwarf. It was cute and we loved it anyway (see the photo on To Life and Lafo).

The second snow packed beautifully. Micah’s artistic big sister, Scout, took over as snowman engineer and designer, rounding the body and deciding what to use for facial features.

Micah said, “The snowman needs a hat!” She chose the Santa hat from the toybox I keep for the girls. In her words, the “Ho-Ho hat.”

And here you have it. Our merry friend:

That night, as I put our exhausted Micah to bed, she kept stalling.

She fights going to sleep, has always been a restless sleeper. She asks for songs: Frère Jacques. Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. She chats about a boy at daycare and calls him “my brother.” She says he’s going to the beach and she wishes she could go, too.

“All right, Micahroni,” I say at last. “It is time to sleep now.”

She twists around, lies still, and is silent for a moment. She looks at the ceiling, the wall. Her eyes are heavy.

Then those big eyes are on me. “We forgot the Ho-Ho hat! It’s outside!”

“Yes, but it’s okay. The snowman can wear the hat tonight. We can get it tomorrow.”

That seems a sufficient response, for she’s quiet again.

Then: “Franna.”

“What, Micah?”

“I don’t want the snowman to melt.”

“He won’t melt tonight, honey. It’s very cold outside. He’ll still be there tomorrow.”

She looks at me earnestly. Deep brown eyes, rosy cheeks.

“I don’t want his face to melt,” she says.

I murmur something soothing, I think, but my mind isn’t on my words.

It’s on the workings of her little mind, already understanding the temporary nature of things, fearing loss…yes, it’s just a snowman. But its face reflects humanity. She cares about it and knows, at three, it cannot last.

I stay with her until she drifts off to sleep and her breathing grows loud.

And then I go to bed myself, praying, I confess, for the snowman not to melt the next day while she’s staying with me… because childhood and life itself are so short. They melt away so soon.

When she goes home, the snowman is still in the backyard, joyful as ever, twig-hands raised in praise, undiminished.

I remember to rescue the Ho-Ho hat. She will remember asking. She remembers everything.

I hope she always will.

*******

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

Ominous?

/ Fran Haley / 12 Comments

One Sunday morning
atop the fellowship hall
sat two black buzzards

holding up their wings
like unholy cherubim
like some ancient sign

of impending doom
(Woe to all who enter here!)
except that I know

a couple of things:
see, buzzards hold out their wings
for the sun’s cleansing

not as harbingers
of death (unless one counts the
zapped bacteria)

Sunday, December 8, 2024: The sight when I pulled into the church parking lot. The buzzards (black vultures) remained motionless atop the fellowship hall, disinfecting their wings in the bright sunlight, until the parking lot got too people-y for them and they flew off. Gotta admit this looks ominous, like something out of Poe or painted on the wall of an ancient tomb. Black buzzards are, however, “highly social birds with fierce family loyalty,” says the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. No wonder the church fellowship hall was so appealing to them for their own sun-day.

*******

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