Slice of a Snake

Slice of LIfe
Part of Slice of Life by Two Writing Teachers Thanks for stopping by!

There was this time my mom and I took walks in Texas. We were always excited to hear the birds (different birds than in Pennsylvania!) and we even saw a few Road Runners! One rainy evening, I almost stepped on a snake. This was surprising, since we were on the lookout for Texas wildlife, and we were walking slowly.

The snake was red and black and yellow and my mom and I stared at it for a bit before walking away.
“Is it dead?” I asked. “Is it real?”

I sent a picture to my kids.

My mom said, “There’s a rhyme about this… yellow next to red, something dead… ” She couldn’t remember the exact rhyme, of course so we circled back to the snake to get another look and a utility worker noticed our gaze.

“Uh-Oh,” he said as he came over to get a close look.

“There’s a rhyme of some sort…” my mom said to him.

“Red touch black, safe for Jack. Red touches yellow, kills a fellow.” the man said and we all looked down at the snake. Red touches yellow….

My phone buzzed with a text. H had written, “Ha. Ha. Ha.”

The utility worker kicked the snake.

“Or, it’s a toy.” he said, with a smile.

My mom and I walked away, talking about how this was a little bit too close to the bear outside of my cabin. . . or even the mouse poop. . .

I swear it looked real for a minute . . .

A Slice of the Woods

Slice of LIfe
Part of Slice of Life by Two Writing Teachers Thanks for stopping by!

There were woods behind my childhood home-

I got there by going through an overgrown hedge, next to the small cave I made in a wisteria bush. Sometimes on my own, sometimes with a friend.

We’d climb this evergreen with low hanging branches and sweep the forest floor with the lowest branch. I don’t remember many details from childhood, but I remember the swaying of that branch and how it made the pine needle floor smooth below.

We also collected cigarette butts in an old orange soda can. We were obsessed with cigarettes, for some reason. It was the eighties, that might be a good excuse. We’d pretend to smoke the butts, and then collect them in the can: a good deed for the forest, mixed with an odd view of adulthood, and the glamour of smoking.

Probably if you are younger than me, you don’t understand the cigarette glamour. This is a good thing, I think, that there isn’t that same glamour now. But my imagination was a wild thing back then, unbounded. And I loved to imagine what it would be like to be an adult.

Now I try to imagine what it was like to be a child with an imagination,
and wild raspberry bushes up the street
and a pump station that looked like a magical brick cottage to me
and a field across the street with water runoff that were barbie rivers
and turtles found on the side of the road, kept for a week and then returned
and stuffed animals on leashes for walks
and fairies that lived under couches
and 12 foot pools, 18 inches deep that felt like lakes for hours of inner tubing

and of course, the woods behind the hedge next to the wisteria cave –

The woods are condos now.
But I drive by and think of my tree, and how the low branch swept the forest floor clean.

A slice of a blow dry

Slice of LIfe
Part of Slice of Life by Two Writing Teachers Thanks for stopping by!

I blew my hair dry this morning
using my mom’s hair dryer
I find blowing my hair so boring
It takes forever
So I thought –
Because thinking –
Well
Over-thinking
Is one of my super powers

I thought about how my mom used to blow my hair dry for me
I thought about how when my hair is short it takes so much less time to blow dry
I wondered why my hair looks so good when the hair stylist blows it dry
I wondered how anyone ever has time for this sort of thing every day
I mean, why do I feel a need to blow dry my hair ever?
Yes, it looks better, blonder
Feels softer, smoother
But like, so what?

My first year teaching I used to arrive to school with dripping wet hair
(as if my mornings were so busy before I had kids)
(what the heck was I doing with my time?)
I would walk down the hallway, sometimes drying my soaking hair with school paper towels
You do know school paper towels, right?
Even slower to dry than a hair dryer
My principal would give me a little side eye if she passed me
She was a very proper woman
I was a very young second-grade teacher
I’m sure my dripping wet hair made her shudder

Deep in thought
The hair dryer switched to a quieter sound
It smelled even burnier than usual
My hair was almost all dry
But not quite
My goal had been totally dry hair
Laugh if you want, but this is a big goal for me
But the smell got worse, and the sound got weirder
So I had to turn it off

At least I tried

Anyone have a hair dryer recommendation?


Have I Ever told you?

Slice of LIfe
Part of Slice of Life by Two Writing Teachers Thanks for stopping by!

Have I ever told you how my memories are like blurs of pictures and sounds and feelings? I remember the same things over and over, but not too many things. Thank goodness for childhood friends who fill in the gaps. And even then the memories aren’t crisp enough for actual articulation. But even a slice of a memory makes me feel like I’ve caught it.

Have I ever told you about the boy in preschool who dumped a cup of water on me – on my pretty new white sweater with flowers? We were at the water table, and I was so mad when it happened. I don’t remember why I thought water on a sweater was the worst thing in the world, but it was. It really was.

Have I ever told you about how my friends and I were so obsessed with robbers, that we made robber stew in potholes after it rained. Our imaginations were so powerful that we thought, for sure, a robber would be so hungry on the prowl that they would definitely eat the stew we made with the poisonous berries, twigs, mud and stones. We even wrapped the rope swing around the swingset, making sure we would confuse the robbers if they tried anything with that swingset. Did we think they were going to steal it or maybe play on it? I don’t know. It’s fuzzy.

Have I ever told you about how my friend and I would stare out the window into the dark during a sleepover? We would convince ourselves that there were robbers out there. Robbers! The scariest thing ever when I was 7. My mom would come in and sigh, “You are scaring yourselves!” and threaten to separate us for the rest of the sleepover if we continued. Separating from my best friend – even scarier than robbers. We stepped away from the dark window, and held hands until we fell asleep.

Have I ever told you about how one day I heard my mom and dad whispering. They told me to go back in my room. I couldn’t hear them at all, but I could tell they were making a plan. Some sort of surprise. When they called me back out, I said “Are we going miniature golfing?” and they were so confused – how did I know the plan?

Have I ever told you about the day that we were having a big picnic and my best friend and her family and the German family they had staying with then were there. The four of us, all around 8 or 9, I think, we went in to dress up, including stuffing rolls of socks in our shirts. All was fun and games until we emerged back outside, lumpy fake breasts sticking out. Embarrassing. Oh, I remember the embarrassment. (Somewhere there is a picture of us, and if I had it, I’d share it, because now it is only hilarious.)

Have I ever told you about going across country when I was 10? We stopped at a Mexican restaurant and I ordered chicken enchiladas. They weren’t bad, but they weren’t good. I sat there looking at my plate wondering why I was eating chicken. We didn’t eat much meat, but still. I made the real connection at that table. “This chicken was once walking around as a chicken.” I said, or thought, who knows – the memory is blurry. And I decided then and there to be a vegetarian.

Have I ever told you that later when we drove back from Mexico, I leaned on the dozen or more Mexican blankets my mom had bought. I rested in the backseat and read Archie comics maybe the whole way. An early vegetarian, before carsickness got ahold of me, reading instead of looking out the window at the glorious landscape. How odd.

Memories are strange things, how they blur and fuzz and repeat. I’m trying to live in the present though, after all – the present is when all those memories happened, right?

A Slice of Morning

Slice of LIfe
Part of Slice of Life by Two Writing Teachers Thanks for stopping by!

H wanted to wake up early and start the day with a walk
I was proud of myself for going to bed before 11:30

I was up at 4:00
Downstairs making coffee, tired of trying to fall back to sleep by 5:00
Resting on the couch with the cats when H came down at 6:00
Falling asleep with a mug of coffee in my hands by 6:15
Finally out the door for a walk at 6:30
The dog was happy, but also confused
He likes his mornings slow

Pink sunrise
Crisp spring air
Birds chirping
“So good to start the day with movement”
“We should do this more often”

There are neighbors running up the hill by our house
Then down the hill
Then up the hill

“That will be us one day”
I say, as we shuffle towards them
“We start with a morning walk, but one day we’ll be running up the hill”

I’m drinking my coffee still
And hoping nobody notices I’m still in my pajamas

The neighbors stop at the bottom of the hill one by one to do push ups
“Should we sing to them?” I ask my 14 year old
You’re my inspiration . . .

But then the last man gets down in the middle of the street for his push ups
“That’s called testosterone,” I say
“There’s no reason on God’s green earth that you need to do push ups in the middle of the street”

We’re home now
For more coffee
It was a short walk
Pushups not included
But it was a good way
to start the day –
crisp

A Slice of Tuesday

Slice of LIfe
Part of Slice of Life by Two Writing Teachers Thanks for stopping by!

It’s Tuesday!

I don’t really have anything to say to you
But you’re here
So I guess you heard
It’s Tuesday
And I write on Tuesdays.

I didn’t have anywhere to go, or really any time
But I did take a walk
It’s a sunny day
It’s Tuesday
And it’s April and it feels like spring.

I don’t know any answers to your questions
But I am thinking
I am overthinking, I mean
It’s Tuesday
And I live way too deep in my head.

I didn’t really have anything to say to you
But you stopped by
And it’s the First Tuesday of April
It’s Tuesday!
And sometimes, sometimes I write on Tuesdays.

#sol21 March 31 Writers

Slice of LIfe
Part of Slice of Life by Two Writing Teachers March Slice a Day Challenge! I’m slicing every day this month. Thanks for stopping by!

I did it.

31 days.

and even though today
each
word
and
thought
was
interrupted
Like even these words, friends. Even these thoughts-
Interrupted by people I love needing me
calling my name,
“Mama”
telling me things, asking me things, fighting in the other room…

I did it.
Even today.

7 Marches, now 8 Marches.

March 2014 March 2015 March 2016 March2017 March 2018 March 2019 March 2020

March 2021

And this year I finally convinced a group of teachers to write with me.
I’m so proud of them!
Some wrote a handful of times, others wrote each of the 31 days.
Some are “my teachers” I coach
Some are teachers across town
One’s a librarian
One’s an intern
One’s a principal
All of us are
Writers!

And my coach heart and my writing heart and my teacher heart
are so very very proud.

#sol21 March 30 I’ve run out of metaphors

Slice of LIfe
Part of Slice of Life by Two Writing Teachers March Slice a Day Challenge! I’m slicing every day this month. Thanks for stopping by!

(Warning, this slice includes an expletive.)

I’ve run out of ways to express the metaphors
for the things I can’t tell you

But

Someone spilled chocolate ice cream on the tablecloth yesterday
The tablecloths is one of those pretty ones from Home Goods
It has birds and flowers, lavender and periwinkle and the perfect spring green
And now it has a splotch of chocolate ice cream
I’m writing this while staring at that splotch
Listen, it was an accident
An overzealous lover of vegan ice cream tipped a little out of his bowl
And I think that it will wash out with a little bit of the right detergent
I mean, it might not be exactly stain-free, but it would be splotch free
It would be good, the stain would tell a story like tablecloth stains do
That splotch doesn’t have to stay there, rotting the tablecloth
But first I’d have to stop writing
Clear the table
And decide to put the tablecloth
in the f#$%^N washing machine

I’ve run out of ways to express the metaphors
for the things I can’t tell you

But I’m still writing

#sol21 March 29 Pajamas

Slice of LIfe
Part of Slice of Life by Two Writing Teachers March Slice a Day Challenge! I’m slicing every day this month. Thanks for stopping by!

“What are we going to do now?” E asks after dinner and then adds “Do you have like a bunch of work to do?”

“Not too much,” I start saying “I just want to -“

“Put your pajamas on?” He interrupts.

It’s a good guess, but I was going to say write.

“Well, that, and slice,” I explain as I laugh to myself about how my kids know me so well. They probably think it’s odd that I didn’t already have my pajamas on at dinner.

I’m sure I complained about pajama time when I was a kid, but now it’s my favorite time.

And that’s saying something, since I work from home and wear fuzzy socks all day.