Time Waits for no Writer

"Houston, we have a problem." 

Everyday now for 16 days, I could not wait to sit down and start writing. Sometimes it was at 5:00 in the morning, other times it was late in the evening-- always before 12:00 because I did not want to miss the deadline. No matter the time, the page called to me, and it ran through my thoughts until I could find time to breathe life into it. 

However, for the last two days, I began to feel the pull. A giant Wile E. Coyote Acme Magnet had been pointed towards me and I could no longer resist the draw of other obligations. Wilted organic veggies lay dying a slow death in the crisper as I ignored them preferring to dine instead on Lay's Cheddar Chips while writing. In the laundry room, a third hamper was now filled and overflowing and my drawers were almost depleted as the wash waited patiently for me to take notice. And my poor husband gave furtive glances afraid to suggest any modicum of time or food be thrown his way. I realized it was time. I needed to fulfill my wifely duties.

I suppressed my new addiction to the keyboard yesterday and found my way to the kitchen. I cooked dinner and accepted my husband's invitation to watch a movie. It was nice. I didn't realize that I had actually missed it (somewhat), but was I thinking about writing the whole time? I plead the fifth.  

Lastly, today I opened my gradebook and found, or rather did not find, grades. I had not added the last two assessments. "What? How in the world did I do that?" I pondered. Then it hit me. Instead of coming home, cooking and cleaning and then grading into the night, I was rushing to my computer to write all the stories that fought for my attention all throughout the day. And that is when it hit me, it's a trade off. If I want to write, I have got to give up something in return. Will it be dinner, grading, lesson planning, work, husband, children, friends, the house, the wash...?

What are you giving up to hone your skills?

Tornado Drill Limerick

There once was a school with no fear.

Helter-skelter their plan so I hear.

“Let’s not make a fuss.

Put your kids on the bus.”

“They’ll be fine in the hallway.” Oh Dear!

So, there was a huge mega storm predicted for our state. EVERY SINGLE OTHER COUNTY in the state preemptively called for an early dismal the night before. One even said if you keep your kids home, it will not be counted against them. NOT US. At 10:41 a message went out that said we are not going to dismiss early. Four minutes later, my phone began screaming to seek shelter. 

We sat on the floor in the hallway on our knees with our heads against the wall for forty minutes. Later we actually saw photos of a funnel cloud that was 8 miles from here. Currently, a teacher on planning is serving as bookie taking bets on when round two of the storms arrives. Others are betting on how long we’ll be stuck in the building until the storm passes. I saved some of my lunch in case of the latter.This is the true March Madness.  

Hopefully, though, it will miss us and stay away until after the bell, and we are all home safe and sound – even the teachers with one-hour long drives towards the impending band of angry clouds. 

Btw, the aforementioned poem was written in my head while on my knees during that tornado drill – wait, what do you call it when it's not a drill but not actually a tornado? 

A.I. AY AY!

 I kicked and I screamed as I taught,

But now I am feeling distraught.

They still used AI

I said as I cried, 

And now I’m just grading a bot.

Oh Deer

Ten, tall, regal, deer

in the early morning rise

Pulverize my yard 

Twenty

Twenty years ago a scream pierced the room. Blocked by a solid white shroud across my knees, paralyzed from the waist down, and surrounded by various bulky equipment, I could not see it but could hear that it was moving clockwise around the space. The banshee-like yell was incessant, and I feared for my future with this new thing. I could tell the bearer of the bundle was stopping at various stations and talking with other facilitators as hushed muffled conversations could be detected just beneath the reverberating assault on our ears.  Occasionally a word reached me: "Seven pounds eleven ounces." Occasionally the sound roared even louder as if in indignant anguish at whatever probing attacks it was under. Eventually the screaming neared me. I saw a nurse lean over me smiling into my face as she brought the still wailing tightly wrapped bundle "of joy?" up beside my head to enable me to see. 

My eyes fell onto the pale colorless emitter of all sounds inhuman with his eyes squeezed tight and mouth opened wide, wrapped like a burrito in a white blue and pink blanket... and my heart melted.

I smiled, and softly said, "Hi!" 

Immediately a hush fell across the room. Silence filled the void that once screamed bloody murder. It had stopped. Two goo filled eyes opened and stared at this creature (me) whose voice he seemed to recognize. He no longer cried. He knew I was there for him.

And twenty years later, he still knows. Happy 20th birthday to my heart.

"All Four Seasons in One Day"

Sting once wrote a song about “all four seasons in one day.” He was referring to a young lady who he deemed to be suffering from mood swings. It was a metaphor, or so I thought. I never dreamed his words could ever truly come to pass in a 24 hour period and actually relate to weather. 

After having risen 20 degrees or more to reach 85 degrees yesterday for the first time in five months, I awoke to Alexa’s proclamation that it was 6:30 A.M and 60 degrees. I went into my closet and pulled out a long thin flowy skirt, thin white blouse and a short waisted blazer and wondered how high it would get today. 

At 8:15 I headed out without a coat and found that the temperature had dropped to 41 degrees and had joined forces with a pounding pouring rain and heavy whipping wind. It was raining and blowing so hard that I was mentally writing a poem for today about the power of rain during my drive.

I parked in the “late again” section about two miles (felt like it) from the building and grabbed my umbrella, purse and lunch bag while hefting my heavy computer bag onto my back. I then began my long trek across the parking lot running like an American Gladiator between cars and across puddles while battling a sideways rain whose sole mission was to turn my curls into an Angela Davis afro. As I entered the building, I noted streams of distraught coatless children soaked in tee shirts and shorts who obviously didn’t check the forecast either. 

At 12:10, one of my “Weather Watchers,” (a child who deems it his job to only look out of the window and alert the class by shouting out in the middle of a lesson of the slightest bit of precipitation) shouted out, “It’s snowing!” The other children then looked up and ran to the window to see as if we did not have a snow week off just a month ago… and a day off for snow last week.  I assumed at first that he saw light flurries, but to my surprise, it was more like giant squalls. 

By 2:30 the grass and our cars were completely coated in about a half an inch of snow. By the time the bell rang at 3:40, the sun was out, and it had all but melted. By 5:00 P.M., it was sunny and 53 degrees. Currently it is 10:00 P.M. and is forecasted to drop to 29 degrees tonight.

In a moment, I am about to get my clothes ready for work tomorrow. I will lay out my blue cashmere sweater, white tank top, wool houndstooth blazer, blue jean booty shorts, sheer floral pink and green flowered skirt, suede thigh high boots, yellow bikini, flip flops, and my mink coat… just in case.

Audience Awe

Do you know who your audience is?

As a middle aged... or rather seasoned... or should I say I'm in my prime? then again, there's half past autumn?... Um, honestly, I'm not quite sure where the sixties fall when you still feel like you are 45... -ish, albeit an impatient, achy, sometimes creaky cranky 45. Anyway, as an older woman, I consider my posts to be for parents, moms, dads, grandparents, teachers, and anyone else who has experienced enough in life to now laugh at it.

Well, just the other day, I was looking at one of my posts from earlier this week called, "The Elusive Occasional Migratory Pattern of the College Student Man-child," when I realized there was a new comment that I had not seen.

He said he was a college student staying in a dorm like my son and that his mother is always calling him almost everyday. He went on to add that after reading my post, he “got it.” He said he had never before thought about how she was feeling, and now he sees things differently.

This really touched my heart because it was supposed to be a funny piece where I'm making fun of myself and my husband as worrywarts. However, this college student was able to read between the lines and take with him a deeper understanding of what his mom goes through with him so far away at college.

So regardless of who we believe our audience is, be aware, you never know who is watching.