Category: writing


image

31 days?
I wasn’t sure I could do it.
31 days?
Did I have enough to say for 31 days?

31 days…..?

It seemed so daunting at first.
Scary.
Huge.
Too much.

31 days….?

Of writing,
Of sharing,
Of reading,
Of reflecting.

It seemed huge.
It seemed too much.
I’m so busy I meet myself coming and going.
I’m so busy;  how could I ever accomplish such a thing?

I’m so busy.
….for 31 days.

So busy being blown away by the experience.
So busy being enriched by the posts I’ve read.
So busy being stopped in my own moments.

Forced to be still,
To reflect,
To think,
To BE.

So here I am.
At the end of 31 days.
31 days…!
Each a little different.
Each it’s own flavor slice.
Each a reflection of who I am, where I am, how I am.

I set my goal.
I held my breath.
I jumped right in…
And wrote.

…for 31 days!

Then sings my soul…..

Advertisements

image

I thought I might write about my private dance party in the car on the way to school this morning.

Then I thought I might write about the sticky note on one student’s answer document marked “Boogers?”

But then lunch happened and I found myself caught in a pop-up rain shower 1/2 a block from my destination, and I thought I might write about that.

Or the (resulting) look on my friend’s face when she stopped me mid-sentence and said, “Is it really humid?   Your hair is kind of …… uhm…..big.”

Or the mixed blessing of saying goodbye to a character of our town while visiting with so many other friends I’ve not seen face-to-face in far too long.

But then I came home,
Walked through the house,
And flipped on the light in the bathroom.

And the geckos were there!!!!!
….and they’re just so dang cute!

And there’s the slice!

….then sings my soul.

image

…and this is the view from where I sit.
In the tub,
Peering over the edge,
With bubbles up to my chin.

20,000 steps today.
Most made during the school day
In shoes not made for walking.

And so this is where I sit.
With the shoes not on my feet.

Aromatherapy a la bubblebath, ahhhhh.
Still too light to need the candles that sit ever at the ready.
But the time is right for dark chocolate.
(Always.)

For tomorrow we test.
And, yes, it’s a “we.”
Oh, so very much a “we.”

4th graders will write.
5th graders will “math.”
And teachers will pray….
A lot.

That the kids are confident,
Their learning true.
That they’ll seize this moment to apply all they know.

That even as they play this game we never chose,
They play to win.
To sparkle,
To shine.
To do their best.

Their best is what we’ve worked for,
and it’s what we pray for.

At least I know I sure do…
With 2 pairs of tennies on the floor,
And bubbles up to my chin.

They’ve got this.
We’ve got this.
We’ve all worked so hard.

That now it’s time to breathe….
No matter how many steps led to the bath.

image

…..and the fluffy purple towel.

Then sings my soul…..

image

Found this treasure today and it made me think
Maybe I was born for this…

A ponderer of thoughts
With a way for words.
A student of the world around us
With a penchant for the click of the keys.

Starting young.
Books and songs in the lap of my mom.
And this.
Definitely this.

Another of my treasures is my dad’s old steamer desk where he wrote oh, so many words.
It is huge
And heavy
And goes with nothing.

Nothing, that is,
Except my heart,
And the words that pour forth from it.

Then sings my soul….

Happiness is….

image

This!
This entire stack of papers —
21 sets of 26 lines of fabulousness.

Fabulousness because these kids are taking chances.
These kids are thinking.
They are planning.
They are sharing.
They are WRITING.

And more than that,
They are WRITERS!

And not just any writers….
But double-stuff writers who think deeply and share what’s on their 9 year old hearts.

6 weeks ago, these kiddos didn’t write.
They couldn’t.
They didn’t feel safe…

But now?
In the parodied words of Chombawamba….

We’re here to write.
And then we’ll write again.
There’s nothing gonna bring us down.
We’re here to write.

Writing the day away…..

Then sings my soul.

image

Next week, 4th graders across the great state of Texas will take a test of ridiculous proportions.
It’s the Writing STAAR and there are people out there who honestly believe it measures the knowledge and know-how of our kiddos.

If only they knew —

What the kids go home to,
What they witness,
The challenges they face…

But also (and more importantly) —

The twinkle in his eye when he tells a silly joke,
The warmth of her hug when she greets you Monday morning,
The light bulb moments,
The wonderings,
The laughter.

And so,
This week before the test,
We go to Camp Write Along!

Nothing is the same at school.
We rally.
We sing.
We play games.

And we write.

We write… a lot!

But, first we sing.
To the tune of Tub Thumping:
“We’re here to write! And then we’ll write again.  There’s nothing gonna hold us back!”

And then we use Oreos as metaphors for good writing:

Oreos Thins?
Bare minimum…I mean, the basics are there, but who wants to read that?

Original Oreos?
That’s better!  The intro and conclusion (cookies) are more filled out and really frame things for the reader.
But something’s missing…

Ah, Double Stuff!!!
Now we’re talking!
Still have the strong intro/conclusion,  but now they frame something more! Something powerful and important because it’s the story of our writers!

And so — this week before the STAAR…
We write.
But we also sing,
And we play.
But most importantly we live and laugh.

And eat — I mean WRITE — good double-stuffed Oreo writing!

Then sings my soul….

“I love your poems,” they said.

“You find poetry in the simplest things,” they said.

“Look at that. Another one,” they said.

“You’ve such a poet’s heart,” they said.

These things as Facebook comments??!!
WHAT??!!?

I never set out to write a poem.
That’s never been my intention.

I’d not thought of myself as a poet.
Not ever.
Not once.
Nada.
Nope.

But then I stopped…
And I thought.
And I read.
And I realized.

Yes.

It is poetry that flows from my fingertips.
Poetry that flows from my heart.
Poetry….
A direct line from my soul to the screen or the page.

And that’s so wild.
So completely and totally wild.

It’s not who I ever thought I would be.
But here I am…
And it’s me.

I think, not in paragraphs, but in stanzas.
I write, not in prose, but in verse.
I think…. I feel…. I dream….

(Oh! How I dream….)

And this, I believe, is why.

The more life I live, the more I come to see and to know
The power of the pause.

For life – the real magic and beauty of life – is in the pauses,
The dashes,
The ellipses….

Life is what happens BETWEEN the words.
BETWEEN the comments.
BETWEEN the lines.

Life is that single glorious moment when the sun splits open the sky at dawn.
It’s that split-second when the sun disappears over the horizon at dusk.
It’s the light in a baby’s eyes when Momma walks in the room.
It’s the flutter of the hummingbird’s wings.
It’s the newborn calf at it’s mother’s utter – it’s face covered in milk.

It’s the moments.
The pauses.
The seconds.
The frames frozen in time – in our mind’s eye – as we stop.

We stop.
And we notice.

We pause.

And if the pause is right…
It becomes a poem.

Whether we meant it to or not.

I never set out to write a poem….
Instead, poetry found me.

And, oh!
Then sings my soul….