Round and Round a Writing Community Goes and Where It Stops, Well, Actually It Doesn't

About a month ago, I had a chat with two fellow writers, Nitasha and Nancy, that I worked with, in Mumbai, India, six years ago. While teaching there, we were members of the same writing group. This conversation sparked memories of our groups' prompts, fellow writers' pieces, and, most importantly, the community that was grown from this shared experience. During our conversation, Nitasha invited us to join her in this year's Two Writing Teachers' SOL challenge.

Instantly I signed up. No reflection. No wondering if I could have the stamina to write for 31 days. No doubts. There was a reason for my instantaneous sign-up. At the time, I was unaware, but a silent signal flashed in the frontal lobe of my brain. I was desperately craving to write with a community.

Thirty-one days later, I've realized that the writing community Nancy started six years ago has created a cycle of sorts. Now bear with me.

1. The group that Nancy originally formed and led was passed onto Nitasha and me.

2. When we left our school, I assumed the writing group ended, but like all cycles, it didn't. Two of our colleagues took the reigns and continue to facilitate the group.

3. Surprisingly, six years later, plus or minus a few months, Nitasha reached out and invited me here.

Our "old" writing group never really ended. It was just the beginning. At times our members, myself included, hibernated, but like bears, we seem to possess chemical reactions within our brains that deploy a silent signal that it's time to write again. I emerged from my writing den to share in this year's SOL writing challenge, all thanks to my original writing group, which began 8,000 miles and six years away from here.

Thanks to all the slicers who joined this year's challenge, which, as many of you have stated along the way, has been more of a challenge than usual. Your commitment and encouragement are appreciated and have inspired me.

Thank you to the Two Writing Teachers team for building this community and encouraging us to write and share.

Thanks to my Welcome Wagon driver, cheerleader, and nudger, Glenda, whose big change in her plans swerved her into this role and seat, and I'll be ever grateful for her expertise.

And finally, thanks to Nitasha for this invitation.

Looking forward to SOL21. Stay well and safe.

My Mom Has a New Hobby...A Social Distancing Puppet Show

The last time my mom physically spent time with her grandsons was March 18th. We, as so many families, have been practicing social distancing since then. What used to be a quick 20-minute drive down country roads has now morphed into 12 days apart. That's 17,280 minutes without physical contact. Without seeing smiles up close. Without hearing their giggles in person or being told she's not dancing to "Thunder" by Imagine Dragons correctly.

It's been challenging for my mom to be away from them. She babysat them both as babies. She played and cuddled and tickled them at least once a week. Now it's all virtual. It feels different to her.

About a week ago, my older nephew asked her to come over to his house to play. His face crumpled when she said she couldn't and he walked away, visibly upset, from my sister's phone. 

After we hung up from "Facing" him (his verb for FaceTime), she said obstinately, "I don't like this one bit," as she crossed her arms over her chest.

As a means to close this gap in her heart and share some joy, she had an idea. An alligator puppet from the basement combined with an old breadbox that was ripped away from the counter when my parents remodeled their kitchen and a red blanket provided all the tools she needed to get started.

Introducing Al the alligator!

Every couple of days my mom films a new episode to send to her grandsons. I'm her cinematographer and producer. My dad made his debut appearance as an actor in episode two, where Al got a little too close and bit him. In the episode I'm sharing with you today, Al plays the kazoo. Why? Because her older grandson loves music and loves watching marching bands in parades. She also chose to play a song he sang in the background yesterday as we "Faced" their family.

She's not the only grandparent finding new ways to connect. She's not the only person using this time to be creative. She's just one of the many of us finding new ways to bring joy to our loved ones, but I can tell you, her imagination, creativity, and commitment, have all impressed me. 

Learning Lines: Taking a Line Sketching Class

My first line sketch.

Learning lines.

My teacher said,
"Not too straight.
Lean into the wiggle.
Make an approximation.
This imperfection in your lines gives your piece more character."

I'm taking a free online line sketching course with my mom. 
This class has given me a physical reminder to let go. 
To let go of control, which for me on a good day, is hard, 
and some moments
can be even more challenging. 

The wiggles and approximations feel just right today. It's a good day. 

An Hour with Rupi Kaur

In this season of uncertainty, so many people are sharing their talents with others to provide support. This afternoon, I participated in the poet Rupi Kaur's hour-long writing workshop on Instagram. I was introduced to Rupi's book, the sun and her flowers by a friend. At that time, Rupi's poetry pulled me through a breakup.

Rupi began our session with a quote by author, Flannery O'Connor, who said: "I write because I don't know what I think until I read what I say."Instantaneously I was pulled further into the workshop because I connected to O'Connor. Most of the time, I'm able to express myself more easily and honestly when I've put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard.

Working through the three writing prompts, Rupi guided us, nudged, supported, and then cheered as some authors shared their work.

She led us through an exercise in how she creates her spoken word poems. I've decided to share the first draft of my spoken word poem that I wrote during her workshop. The green writing is Rupi's coaching and words, while the gold writing is my poem.

This is a poem I'll go back to revise sometime soon. I've got decisions to make but like the snake idea that I've got going so far. Rupi told us her spoken word poems can take a week or months. She reminded us that sometimes letting things ferment; we can grow more.

At one point, I paused my writing because I looked up from my notebook and noticed that over 9,000 people had joined her live session. What a powerful moment. All the 9,000 participants, sharing this experience of writing together. I wonder what it sounded like in heaven.

Rupi's Instagram story, aka her Live poetry workshop, is available for the next 24 hours on her Instagram so you can enjoy it too. 

Just a little warning that her final prompt would not be appropriate for all ages. 

Books Make Hearts Happy: A Poem

Flipping your fingers
over each page
I'd touched
you said,
"Getting this book
made my heart happy.
I love you, Aunt Meg." 

The joy it brought you,
and your grin,
caused my heart
to radiate a glow
that drew my lips
into a smile.

I'm so glad you liked your book Eddie.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

Online Grocery Ordering Win! A Poem

Ordering groceries
so far in advance is
new to my parents.
This shifted practice
is yet to become
a routine.

We plan meals
a week at a time,
trying to keep them,
Bernie,
and
Maureen,
out of stores
as
much
as
possible.

When we click our final submission,
they wonder,
"Will we get what we need?"
They're learning,
as I am too,
what we really need
to keep our fridge
and pantry stocked.

Our fingers crossed as
we drove to the store
this morning.
The car, quiet.

Upon arrival,
we dialed the number
and gave our family name.

A man, in his 20s,
pushed a cart
toward our car trunk.
We opened it.
He placed bags inside
and closed it.

We drove home,
put on gloves, and
brought the three bags inside.

Success!
Only a few items missing,
and as my dad said,
"We've got more than
enough right now."

Snail Mail Love Through Making Books

I'm an auntie. I have two nephews. One is two. The other is four. So many of us are finding new ways to connect with our loved ones. Yesterday, I received a note in the mail from my older nephew, Eddie. I decided to show him some snail mail love today by making him a book.

Why did I choose to make books?

I had the privilege to work with Matt Glover, author and consultant several times when I worked in Mumbai, India, at the American School of Bombay. Matt provides some of the best in-school professional development I've ever participated in, especially for teachers of young writers! I learned so many things from Matt, but I loved being immersed in was the importance of young writers making books. In this video, Matt recently created as a parent resource (but I think it is useful for educators too); he shares the principles of why making books is so valuable. 

My slice today is the two little books I made for my nephews. I tried to like Matt does, choose everyday topics, so they know not all books have to have big ideas, just the process of writing is what it's about!

Please note, I'm modeling approximated drawings and writing too. Be kind!

I realized I forgot to put Eddie in the first position (words don't match the text) hence the addition of the numerals.

Here's Oliver's book.

Thanks, Matt. You've made it possible for me to share my passion for writing not only with the students and teachers I support but, even more importantly, with my nephews.

Three Letters: A Poem to my Nephew

Three letters.
Scrawled in turquoise
across the white.

E M
G

The slanted lines,
straight strokes, and quick curves
reveal your affection.
My name written by your hand.

In the mail today, I received a thank you note from my nephew.
Wow, how his writing has grown.

Our New Routine: A Poem for my Father

Each day I knock on your
imaginary office door.

My knock is a pause
at the entrance to the sunroom
where I rap my knuckles on
the wooden pillar which
divides the spaces.

"Yes?" you ask from
your caramel recliner. 
You lookup from the
biography you're reading.

"What time do you wanna walk today?"

You repeat my question back to me.

"What time do you wanna go?"

Each morning I share
one or two of the
to-dos from my list
that I'd like to finish
before we depart.
Based on those,
I make my proposal.

"How about 10:30?"

"Yeah, sounds good," you agree.

For the next hour
I bake, read and write
snail mail notes to
faraway friends.

For the next hour
you read, and
solve your crossword puzzle.

At 10:25, we meet.
Each of us bundled.
Ready to brave the
temperatures and wind
knowing these walks
warm our hearts.

Dancing, Meditating and Drawing.

Dancing.

Meditating.

Drawing.

Just three of the free online courses I've joined over the last week.

I've danced and sweat a WHOLE lot, with Ryan Heffington (@ryan.heffington) in his daily IG live classes. His song choice, including yesterday's Tracy Chapman's Fast Car, has been amazing along with his fun dance party atmosphere.

I joined Tracey Stanley's 21-day Empowered Wakeup course. Today I felt grounded from watching the recorded Zoom call I missed and I'm excited to wake up tomorrow morning to meditate. When was the last time I said I was excited to set an alarm?

Finally, my mom and I signed up to take a line drawing class together through Brit.co.  We're learning to draw and then watercolor buildings. This company is offering free classes through the end of March for anyone interested.

I'm just amazed by how generous artists and teachers, and really so many people have been, with their time and expertise in the past couple of weeks.

These classes help balance out everything else in these strange times. These activities help me to move my energy and shake it out of my body. They help to ground me to feel the certainty that's hidden in the chaos. They push that creativity inside of me that's ready to bloom. One way I'm already using it is by participating in the Slice of Life Challenge, but I feel I've got more to share.

Thank you to those teachers and to you all who are giving more. Especially stopping by to read this post. Are you taking any free classes currently? Exploring your passions with some extra home time? 

I Spy A Silly Face! A Tale of a Community Window Walk

Today, in Northern Illinois, the city my parents live in the residents participated in a Community Window Walk. The first community window walk occurred on March 17th, St. Patrick's Day. Participating residents placed shamrocks in their windows, and families would walk around neighborhoods looking for as many shamrocks as they could find. This event was so popular, someone, somewhere who should get credit, added other ideas, and wanted to continue the fun. 

In case you'd like to start one in your community, here's the schedule that's 
been going wild around the internet and the world!

My family didn't participate in the first walk, simply because we were unaware of it. I thought, despite today's chilly temperatures, we should join in the fun. So I printed a silly faced emoji I found on the internet and taped it into my parents' front window.

Can you find the second silly face? 
It's my mom.

This afternoon, my dad and I bundled up. Even though spring has officially begun, our temperatures have a differing opinion. This meant wearing extra layers...hats, gloves, scarves and of course the usual uniform of winter coats. We walked about three blocks and hadn't spied any silly faces in windows. Until from across the street, we spied...

Four faces were smiling back at us!

But not just one an entire house full!

Each street-facing window contained a silly face. You could observe the representation of different ages in this home—some silly faces made of scribbles, while others appeared more sophisticated. Regardless of artistic ability shown, we laughed and paused and talked about each one.

For the remainder of our walk, we searched for more. We didn't spy any other silly faces on the streets; we wandered down. I noticed that this small task that defined our walk increased my observational skills. I was observing not just windows but the colors of shutters, yard decor, and tiny stems peeking out from the cold ground.

I'm looking forward to the next walk, on March 23rd, animals.

Today Just Feels Weird

Today feels weird. I am experiencing the roller coaster of emotions that we all are, but today for feels weirder than the past few days have. 

I've tried to keep a good self-care routine this week. Each morning I meditate for about 30 minutes. Then I journal for a while afterward. It's about an hour I spend starting each day slowly and checking in with myself. Today I felt optimistic until I opened my window blind.

Northern Illinois was coated in fog. In movies and books, when there's fog, it sets a creepy atmosphere or unsettling tone. With the virus news, the fog became an emotional pull this morning. It made me feel a little bit more exposed even though we were coated in clouds.

As the day went on, my feelings of vulnerability increased...

• A trip to the allergist was my first medical encounter at an elevated level. I've had other appointments and been asked if the usual series of questions, but today I read a sign on the door that I needed to call to enter the building. 

Waiting

They explained the new procedure to me, which included waiting in my car until I was called and that one patient would be allowed to enter at a time. I was greeted at the door by the nurse, who was wearing a mask, gloves, and other protective clothing. She took my temperature. After receiving my shots, I had to return to my car to wait for the standard 20 minutes so she could check for any allergic reaction.

• On the way home, I stopped by my bank. Right now, you can only drive-thru. You must make an appointment to have any transactions that require more than can be handled from your car.

• As I picked up lunch from Panera, I accidentally touched the drive-thru employee's hand. After we brushed fingers, I noticed each of our eyes widened by the surprise touch, and then we exchanged awkwardly smiles. We each wished one another a good day, but I wondered if she felt the same way I did, a little too exposed. 

• When I checked in on friends and family today, others were feeling the weirdness too. Being a former international teacher means I have teacher friends and colleagues scattered across the world. Today one friend, who's been facilitating distance learning for his school located in Shanghai, China for the past seven weeks, was told that his school might lay off teachers in June due to low enrollment for the following school year. Another friend is stuck in Saudi Arabia as she's not allowed to leave the country for her spring break, but she's looking forward to learning more ukelele songs via YouTube. My sister, who's a high school Spanish teacher, made her first trip to Target in a week and had some anxiety before entering the store.

Maybe it was the fog. Maybe it's just the day. Maybe it's just more getting used to the changes, but with them happening daily, it can feel like a lot. Today it did. And as I write this, I feel okay, not worried, not fearful or anxious, just weird. 

Time for a Sellotape Haircut

As you can see, my cowlick has other ideas about being perfectly straight.

When I was little, my mom would trim my bangs. When they were getting too long, and into my eyes, she would wrap a towel around my neck and sit me on the kitchen counter. Then she would pull out a roll of sellotape in the U.S. known as Scotch tape. After ripping off a long piece, she placed it across my bangs to ensure sure she had a straight line to cut them. To make sure they were perfect. It always felt a little special when she did this.

Yesterday I noticed my bangs were getting quite long again. I trimmed and trimmed, trying to emulate the hairstylist I see. Trimming just a bit at a time with her hands flurrying across my forehead. Well, I didn't flurry, but I did cut a bit at a time. Trying not to
look too blunt but more blended as she does.
I thought my results were not great but acceptable.

This morning, however, I woke up, and when I looked
in the bathroom mirror, I noticed they were

Tada!

still too long. I started using the same strategy I'd used yesterday and began to feel annoyed. Annoyed because I wasn't getting the result I wanted. Rationally I understand I'm not trained in how to properly cut bangs but it seems like it should be a fairly straightforward task to accomplish. Then I recalled my mom's technique. So I went to the kitchen and grabbed the sellotape. I placed it across my forehead. I trimmed and trimmed. Better.

I'll still fuss with my cutting over the next few days because it's not quite right, but it already looks so much better than it did yesterday. Thankful, this particular memory popped up as I looked in the mirror this morning, practical and special at the same time.

Target Tales #2: A TP Photo Op Reminded Me About Kindness

My mom and I were picking up a few things on Saturday at Target. We'd hoped to find milk, my favorite Buffalo Wing Pretzel Crisps, coffee creamer, and a few other items for dinner. We'd had success with our list and decided, as many of us do when we're out shopping, to see if there were any toilet paper or paper towels.

We were at the end of the aisle where I saw an older man sitting in a motorized shopping cart, using his phone to take the photo, that many of us have, of an empty toilet paper aisle.

He saw me looking down the aisle as well and started reached his hand up to the electronic console and move out of my way.

I abruptly interrupted his move, "No, you don't need to move. I'm capturing the same photo you are, sir."

He looked up and smiled. "Oh, really?"

I nodded. It was at that moment that I decided to pause. I wondered did he need toilet paper. I wondered if this was his trip to gather the supplies, so many Americans are trying to find. I wondered if we might be the only human interaction he'd have and if so, we needed to make it count. We needed to stop and listen to him so I smiled.

"I live in _____ (a suburb about 45 minutes away). I used to live in _____ (about 20 minutes away). I lived there until my wife died."

"I'm sorry," I quickly muttered.

"It's okay. That was two years ago. Now I live with my son. He lives in ______ (aforementioned city). Today I was out in _____ (the same town he used to live in) helping my friend with a technology problem. I thought I'd stop on the way home and see if there was any toilet paper here. We can't find it for us. Guess we're not the only ones."

"No, you're not," I smiled.

He went onto tell us about the other stores he'd visited that afternoon. He had found some toilet paper at Aldi. He found paper towels at Dollar Tree.

"And I found all of this here," as he gestured toward his basket filled with some milk and a few other perishable items. "I found everything I needed."

"I'm glad you did," I replied.

His eyes twinkled as he said, "Me too."

"Take care. Wishing you and your family well, sir."

"Thank you. You, too," he responded.

Each time I've gone out since then, which I'm trying to avoid altogether, but when I do, I've tried to pause and show a little more kindness. I've been making more eye contact. I've been saying thank you to people stocking our shelves or those working at the drive-thru. It's these small moments that, during hard times, make a big difference, genuinely making sure we all find everything we need.

* I did not capture a photo that day but I think I captured something much more important.

Do You Know Starbuck's Code? A Reverse Culture Shock Tale

I'm learning new code in the U.S., Starbucks code. When I say that I don't mean Starbuck's beverage language like a tall Chocolate Dalmatian, I mean the Starbucks' patron code. 

Today while waiting for an appointment, I hunkered down to work at a nearby Starbucks. It was here that I was reminded of the patron code. Restroom code. Restroom code is where you are approached by a patron sitting near you who politely asks the small favor, "Can you watch my things while I use the restroom?" 

I'd been sitting at my table today, sipping my grande caramel macchiato with almond milk for about an hour when a nearby female patron asked me for this favor. I obliged but was taken back when she asked. I don't think it's rude or asking too much; it's just that I haven't lived within this culture for a while. I moved back to the U.S. in August after living overseas for ten years. As my new Starbucks' friend used the facilities, I pondered why this question, this favor, took me by surprise. 

In Prague, where I lived for the past four years, we didn't have this same code. If you needed to use the restroom, you packed everything up and took your things with you. Granted, I didn't visit Starbucks in Prague frequently for a few reasons. These included the fantastic cafe culture in my neighborhood, pickpocketing, and Starbucks' prices compared to local cafe prices (local cafes usually had better coffee too), it's just you'd never ask a stranger this favor there. 

It was about this time when my Starbucks' BFF returned. She smiled and said, "Thanks so much. Happy to repay the favor for you."

And about 10 minutes later, I took her up on it. It felt a bit strange, but it was so delightful to be able to leave my things at my table and not worry about them because I knew she would be watching them for me. 

Reverse culture shock is a funny thing because I never know when it'll strike. Today it happened at Starbucks. 

Here's To You: A 70th Birthday Toast and Poem for My Mother

* This is a draft of a poem I'm working on to give to my mom on her 70th birthday. 

P.S. If you do know my mom, shhh! This is going to be a surprise. 

Here's to Valentine's Day cross-stitched patterns,

embroidered vests and

stenciled Christmas ornaments

that you created and then 

gifted to your family and friends.

Here's to the sound effects

you create to replace

words because 

your feelings aren't precisely captured

by the current English language.

Here's to the traditions you 

created for our family

like wearing matching Xmas jammies 

before it was cool and

gifting each of us

the perfect children's book

on Christmas Eve.

Here's to your dancing,

which sometimes looks more

like parading

in dramatic fashion

across the living room floor

to take a shower.

Here's to nursery rhymes

sung with your unique lyric changes.

Teaching your grandsons a

new and improved

GMo versions.

Here's to birthdays 

celebrated

with feeling.

To making all of us

feel extra special on the 

anniversary of our birth.

Here's to the snail mail

you sent across oceans

to make my heart physically

feel your love

when I read your note.

Here's to you 

being a caretaker

of Gram, and

GUE and GAD.

Taking time to cherish,

and honor 

and love them

deeply.

Here's to you being

strong,

tall,

and funny.

Here's to 70.

Here's to many more.

Here's to you mom.

Happy Birthday, Mom!