Retrospective | Slice 31:31

Playing in the nursery this morning before nap, 

Grant happily climbed around on the antique rocking chair from my parents. 

I snapped pictures, for fun, but realized they go right along with where we are today.

It started off at the beginning

like a challenge

one we'd have to climb up into

making solid our footing

piece by piece

And once we were up 

it seemed like daily 

we grew

through community

Fellow writers made us strong

even when we weren't confident about

the words and ideas we'd strung together

(like '18')

And there were the days

in the high-teens and early-twenties

where a tired thought argued with a productive one

It'd be easy to skip tonight...

The challenge won out

Perseverance blossomed

We chose a new angle from which to write

As we drew near to 30

we stood tall

surveying our stories

and

noting the influences 

of friends

of mentors

of comments

And now we've arrived

March 31, 2014

We sit

the satisfaction of stick-with-it-ness

glows

because

we know we can do it

And because we can keep growing together

week by week

Until Tuesday...

Write on,

b

We are together | Slice 30:31

The sun is shining

through the creamy sheers

that dress the bank of windows

on the east wall of the family room

I choose to sit

in front of them

feeling each ray's warmth

melting into a hazelnut leather armchair

that angles toward its better half

which cushions my better half as we

relax

and 

talk

and

explore summer vacations

while I write for you

you sit with us here

in this peaceful space

on this quiet morning

your feet crossed in an X 

atop the rectangular pincushion of an ottoman

sharing a corner like we do

there is so much to say

but sometimes we don't say it

we sit

we bask

we reflect

like the sun 

as it illuminates the pair of wall hangings

shining like glassy waves rolling into

an idyllic beach

We are together

Write on,

b

Dress-up | Slice 29:31

I do this sometimes
I disappear into my closet, and reemerge many times
as someone different
Maybe I try on my black leggings, new tunic from Anthropologie, and the suede Mary Janes I wrote about earlier this month...
the boho-hippie girl I like to be sometimes
Maybe I try on my spring capri pants (to make sure they still fit) with my mix-and-match knit shirts, mostly striped...OK, always striped...
the preppie girl I like to be sometimes
Maybe I try on my black dresses with new accessories (like pearls, or statement necklaces, or a scarf) and different pairs of heels (like round-toed pumps, pointy-toed patent leather slingbacks, or bronze peep-toed slip-ons)...
the refined girl I like to be sometimes
I consider this all homework
You know, for the mornings where I need to get dressed quickly
(which, incidentally, is most of them)
I remember
which shoes complement each
skirt, pair of pants, and dress
I remember
the combos I wore last season
and the new ones I create while playing dress-up
Tonight
I found a sleeveless dress hanging in a suit bag from Parisian
I bought it four years ago when the store was still open downtown
It still has the tags hanging from the left armhole and it still fits
But when I put it on it needed something that popped
so I added my most recent purchase
this belt, a steal at $4.88, from Loft

It goes with the dress like the two were sold together
A blessing...I might need such an outfit sometime soon
And I found it playing dress-up

Write on,
b

Ice cream? | Slice 28:31

I am watching 'Diners, Drive-In's, and Dives', sitting cross-legged on the family room rug while my husband runs to the grocery store for ice cream. It's amazing how easily our conversation transitioned from idea to grabbing shoes, one wallet, and a set of keys...

He giggles, "You know, I'm still hungry."

"I could eat again...I'm not really full either," I throw out the way a little child does with an encouraging nod and a wink that ensures he'll ultimately get what he wants.

He bites. "Well, I could go to Marsh. If you could have anything you want, what would it be?"

"My favorite is Ben and Jerry's Phish Food. You'd love it -- chocolate ice cream full of mini chocolate fish and intersecting rivers of caramel and marshmallow cream.Will you try to find that?"

"Will it be on sale?"

Our eyes meet; he reads them like a billboard.

Then he advances a knowing glance. One that covers my tired body like a cozy blanket. One that acknowledges the strife I feel when analyzing (and over-analyzing) my next career move and lets me know that it will be alright. One that soothes my spirit by plying it with sweet treats, because even if it doesn't make any sense to my diet...it most surely does for my mental health.

Guy Fieri continues to jabber about greasy treats, cheesy delights, and desserts slathered in sauces; I keep typing.

I won't lie -- I'm looking forward to the perfect bite of Phish Food that is speckled with a little ice cream, oozing with a caramel, marshmallowy river, and built on one perfectly incorporated chocolate fish.

I think I hear the garage door opening...

Write on,
b

Art lesson... | Slice 27:31

We had just finished the tough part -- peeling the final product from its waxy background.

"Mommy, let's hang your new sticker over here," he headed toward the dining room window while padding around shiny pieces of All-Clad that dotted our kitchen floor thanks to one toddler who likes raiding cabinets far more than toy boxes. I followed with baited breath and a back-pocket "Why this window, Reid?" just in case he didn't offer tantalizing details, such as this one. I'm always so curious to see how his line of thinking unfolds...

"Here we go," he slid behind the white wood blinds with the colorful dragonfly sticker pressed into one hand. We had made it together over the past two days, thanks for a kit my parents mailed him on Valentine's Day, and had waited...and waited...and waited for each component to dry before moving on to the next. 

Reid's little creative heart swooned as he found just the right spot on the lower half of the casement window. He used his soft fingertips to pad it into place.

Time to pull it out. The question du jour. "So, Reid, why this window for your beautiful dragonfly?" His answer came before I took my next breath.

He walked toward the antique chair closest to the window, patting its black leather seat pad. "Well, Mommy, you sit at the dining room table everyday...in this chair...to do school work on your computer, so I wanted you to have something pretty to look at. You can look at it and think of me."

Be.still.my.heart.

He teaches me with his dried-goo artistry...

that none of us is done growing and changing, child or adult

that we can be transparent, allowing His light to shine through us 

that we can bless others with our gifts, stickers or words

Write on,

b

Roadtrip!?! | Slice 26:31

If I were a drinking girl, I would've been bellied up to a bar -- mine or someone else's -- by the time our blessed Jeep was ready to leave for Grandma and Grandpa's house this afternoon.

Each little checklist item took more effort than it should to accomplish. I will spare you the painful details -- I'm not yet ready to fashion them into crafty words -- so an overview will have to suffice.

Each little temper tantrum escalated past normal ranges. The elder, by the way, not the baby.

Each little momentary escape to be in a room by myself was interrupted by "Mooooooooommmmmmmmy?!?"

Each little glimpse of progress dimmed in the shadows of a new mess.

Each little job to do devolved into some variation of this exchange:
"I'll do that for you, Mommy."
"Thank you, this is so heavy, I'll just go ahead and do us both a favor by carrying X out to the car."
"Moooooommmmy! I said I would do it!! (insert fit here)
"Thank you -- that's so sweet of you -- but I'll find another job for you."
"Waaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!"

And finally, the three of us stood in the kitchen...ready to take the last bathroom break, grab the last snack, sip the last drink, and give the house the last once-over before cozying into car seats.

"Hey, Mommy!" the elder little started as he squeezed his applesauce packet dangerously. "I can eat this faster than two elephants eating hay!"

I never would've thought.

In a few minutes, I can jump into the Starbucks drive-thru line for a grande chai faster than you can disagree with me...

Write on,
b

Google it... | Slice 25:31

I needed a diversion. A time-filler while I raced upstairs to rescue the baby bouncing around in his crib like a misguided rocket following his healthy nap this afternoon.

"Would you like to play something in your folder on my iPad?"

Eyes a-glow, "Yes!"

"OK." I served him the tiny technological wonder with his 'Reid's games' open before loping down the entry hallway and up the stairs.

"Mooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmy? Mommy?!? Mooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmy?"

"YEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSS..." I answered back over the upstairs banister toward the kitchen where he sat bellied up to the island. It had been ten seconds.

"How do you spell -ing?"

Remembering I gave him a tip from the Phonics Dance this spring I began singing the chant, "i-n-g. -ing, -ing, -ing..." as Grant and I bounced tread by tread toward him.

"Mommy, I can't type."

"What do you mean? If you want to type, let's open 'Notes.'" I multi-tasked while grabbing a warm bottle. (That's an affirmative -- Grant still takes a bottle before naps and sometimes after. I know.)

Two seconds later, I peeked over to find this:

"It won't go anywhere, Mommy. Where are the pictures?" he sat tapping his megaword as any remaining patience disappeared like the fickle snowfall this afternoon.

Slow on the uptake, I finally connected the dots. "If you want to look online for something, we need to go to Google. What do you want to search for, Reid?"

"Riding mowers. I want to find Daddy's."

I smiled.

Write on,
b

Chew... | Slice 24:31

Like spokes on a wheel, we sat around the cherry dinner table tonight...me, then Reid, then Tom, then little Grant in the booster seat attached to one of the chairs matching our dinette. As the homemade fried rice and teriyaki drumsticks splattering our white scalloped plates cooled, I situated myself from the most recent trip to the refrigerator (this time, for juice) and ate, determined to finish before the next "Can you get..." request. But, with each bite, my mind traveled deeper into my career quandary and farther from the cheerful banter that convenes when we sit down together each evening. I descended into my modus operandi (over-analysis) by fashioning this week's events into an ESPN '30 for 30'-type episode. I prompted myself to chew, ironically...

A faint sputter, that grew more pronounced, turned into a cough..that turned into a red-faced baby... catapulted me out of my arresting thoughts and toward him, my palm rhythmically tapping the top of his back. Pat. Pat. Pat. Firmer. Pat-pat. Pat-pat. Pat-pat. 

"It's not working! Look -- his face is getting redder! He can't breathe!" I appealed while Tom ran around the table and unhooked Grant's tray (strewn with succulent pieces of chicken, juicy peas, stranded grains of fried rice, and shards of mini pretzel twists shedding salt) before I even finished my words. Reid sat quietly, his eyes like coffee brewing...developing depth with each passing moment.

We both fumbled with the booster seat's harness, while Tom's finger swiped over Grant's tongue. Nothing. But 'nothing' certainly wouldn't elicit the sounds he was now creating, nor the pall changing his complexion from reddish-scary to grayish-REALLY-scary. I patted the butter-soft skin under his wispy white-blonde hairline. Harder. And harder again while Tom propped him between his chest and right knee. I blinked in disbelief -- this ordeal played out at my Amish-made dinner table, sitting on my burgundy floral rug, in my L-shaped kitchen where Tom demolished the previous owner's floor and painted the walls Stonehenge Greige with my parents' help as I sat, big and pregnant, in a royal blue fold-out chair more familiar with baseball games than home improvement projects. Just a couple months before this little one joined our family...

I focused in on his thick silver wedding band that flashed like a streak of lightening as he raced against time to free Grant's airway. My eyes zoomed toward his, peaceful as a sun-drenched river in springtime, which seemed in direct opposition to the intent revealed by his pursed lips. He held our baby like a shepherd cradling his sheep. 

Pat. Pat. Pat-pat-pat-PAT.

Like an answer to prayer, an impressive hunk of gummied pretzel appeared and downgraded Grant's cheeks toward fair-skin flush.  

It wasn't until then that I heard Reid asking questions about where food goes when we chew and swallow. It wasn't until then that I heard the neighbor's black and tan dog barking in the backyard. It wasn't until then that I heard the suppertime traffic wheesh past our front door after a short stop-off at home to grab the family before heading back out for someone else's cooking.

"Here's your sippy...have some water. It's cold." His little hand, powered by the whole of his diminutive frame, pushed the the blue and green cup back to me while the other ran from his tummy toward the left diaper tab. Today I realized he can unhook them. 

"Want some applesauce?" I slipped into the pantry grabbing a pouch to sway his vote and unscrewed its lemon yellow lid before offering a sip.

"Drink," I encouraged. Wash it alllllll down.

He did, between giggles and goo-goo eyes. I cradled him, nuzzling the satiny hair that framed his satiny forehead. And for the second time during tonight's dinner, time stood still...

Write on,

b

Train track epiphany... | Slice 23:31

This post is a continuation of my thinking from 'Clarity: Slice 22:31'. The backstory here is that I just found out my instructional coaching position will be dissolved for 2014-15...

I kept my word this afternoon.

After dishes
and grocery shopping
and sweeping
and laundry
and a FaceTime coffee break with my mom
and fluffing pillows.

I went downstairs to the basement to work out. Like I told you I would last week. Or was that two weeks ago now?

I had a willing accomplice too. For him, the chilly basement's draw is our almagam of Thomas the Train TrackMaster sets. If you have a little boy, this term needs no decoding -- you can imagine what this blessed elbow of the L-shaped space looks like...and sounds like...and well, I digress.

While I shimmied, and jiggled, and danced, and sweat, he created. I looked back sparingly, as not to invite "Mommy, I can't..." and "Mommy, can you come over here and..." I know this kid -- when left to his own devices, he can be brilliant or a four-year-old hot mess.

As Mari and I winded down, his sound effects became more emphatic. Stepping toward a sea of smaller track sections, I became his life preserver...buoying his little spirit from fantastic frustration.

"Mommmmmmmmyyyyyyy, these pieces don't fit together. I need more straight pieces to make these two tracks connect. And I don't have them. Now what will I do?"

Like the angel on his shoulder, "Did you check the laundry basket full of spare wood pieces?"

"No, I forgot."

"Let's look together; I'm guessing we have something that will work. If we don't, we'll just try another design. That's what we do when we're stuck."

We leaned over into that lime laundry basket to find straight pieces, curved pieces, hilly pieces, and junction pieces. "It looks like we have the pieces you need, little guy. Now see what you can do..."

I should take my own advice.

I know standards. I know instructional best practices. I know workshop. I know authenticity. I know resources, lovely mentor texts, 'Choice Words', technology, personalization. I know where these intersect in some ostentatious Venn. 

I know.

So, why am I scared of a job change after five years?

Because I don't know how all the pieces fit together yet.

But I will. Yes, I will. Because just like these silly train tracks that frustrate and demand tedious revision, so does my professional life. I may need to experiment with a few designs before everything runs smoothly -- just like it was meant to be -- but it will. Again.  

So, let's start figuring this thing out. Scenario #1...

Write on,
b

Clarity | Slice 22:31

I sit here now not knowing if 

the lights should be on or off

the coffee strong or weak

the pace fast or slow

the boxes empty or full

the questions

they loom like disagreeable friends

who once stood supportive

but changed

their stripes

stripes that embraced 

now separate

if I'm not careful

the questions grow

bigger and bigger

closer and closer

crowding out the sunlight

from yesterday

that carries today

that may be hidden tomorrow

people say

change is what keeps us

moving forward and 

objectively 

it is true

what is to come will be better

but

subjectively

it is sometimes

smiles that turn into tears 

without warning

and 

musings that turn into fears

without end

I covet 

the quietness

the peace

a nap

an opportunity

They will come.

Write on,

b

two hours in the making... | 21:30

sleep laps at the edges of my tired body
overtakes
and then lets go
refocus
overtakes
and then lets go
i wake up to remember it's spring break

Write on,
b

Counting the days... | Slice 20:31

Gleaming like the morning sun 

it sits on the eastern kitchen sill 

as a monument to 

anticipation

what will come come over spring break

when the bags are packed 

and the Jeep drives two hours north

and the boys and Mommy 

unbuckle, unload, 

and then unlock 

the door at Grandma and Grandpa's house

it is the topic before dinner and after prayers

Mommy, as soon I as get up I will tear off the next link

because we will be another day closer

to seeing Grandma and Grandpa

And sure enough he remembers this morning

bounding down the stairs like an arrow speeding toward its target

Will you help me get it down?

Absolutely

Thank you

Rrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiip

Let's touch and count

1

2

3

4

5

6

7 days!

I can't wait, Mommy

Me neither

Write on,

b

Pillow talk... | Slice 19:31

The covers snug around my face, I started one last conversation with my husband before sleep.

B: Today in a planning meeting, we talked about subordinating and coordinating conjunctions. 

T: I don't remember what those are.

B: Well, a subordinating conjunction introduces a dependent clause, like 'When I get my hair done, I will have no grey hair.'

T: Oh, right. OK.

B: And a coordinating conjunction connects words, phrases, and clauses, like 'I want ice cream and french fries for dinner.' Think FANBOYS: for, and, nor, but, or, yet, so.

T: Got it.

B: Then we started talking about the Oxford comma.

T: Are you kidding me?

B: Of course not. Oxford commas are important. I mean, you've seen that poster that says, 'Let's eat Grandma' and 'Let's eat, Grandma.'

T: Yes. But it's bigger than that. I once had a whole undergrad class session devoted to its use. Not everyone agrees that that last comma is as important as you think it is. 

B: Really? Why? If you don't include the last comma, you end up putting two things together that may not necessarily go. Like not everything goes together like peanut butter and jelly, right? If you put two items together without the comma, the list makes no sense. 

T: Yes. But sometimes the comma takes up space. Word economy is critical to writers. So is space economy.

B: I still think the Oxford comma makes the most sense and I will still keep using it.

T: OK.

B: Good night, love.

T: Good night, love.

Write on,

b

18 | 18:31

18

years since high school graduation

books on writing instruction line my shelves

tank tops balloon from a single hanger

pairs of flip-flops long for sunshine

coffee mugs fill my too-tight cupboards

steps separate sleepers from parents who are awake

black t-shirts, turtlenecks, sweaters, and blouses lie in wait for tomorrow

jars of spices mingle in the cabinet by our stove

pairs of earrings stare out from their clear case

gallons of gas fuel my travels each week

cookies from Grandma anchor weeknight desserts

serenades at the Crosby, Stills, & Nash concert Friday

bobby pins blanket my vanity drawer

coupons pop out of my purse

colored pencils sit at the ready

post-it notes dangle from books I want to think more about

18

And some of you expected me to write about Peyton Manning... :)

Write on,

b 

Smooch | Slice 17:31

We storm out of the house each weekday morning...accounting for children and car seat buckles, school bags and lunches, sippy cups of milk and show-n-tell tubs. With one eye on the clock and the other on the minutiae, we make our good-bye rounds. 

"Grantie, have fun with Miss Heidi."

He follows with a rough wave (he's still fine-tuning its mechanics) and something that sounds like "iy-dee."

Smooch.

"Reidaroo, be good to Mrs. Sedam and Mrs. Oslos -- it's a Rainbows class day."

Smooch.

"Daddy, drive safely and be a blessing at work."

Smooch.

The roaring engine of my husband's powerful sedan awakens, followed by the grumble of my Jeep. They slide down the driveway first, I ease out and shut the garage door. We speed away toward the neighborhood's entrance where, with patience, we wait behind other cars inching into the stoplight's growing trail. Sometimes we make it in together, sometimes I have to catch up to the charcoal muscle car with two little bumps sprouting from the backseat windows. 

I most always do though. It's like the final goodbye -- the final send-off towards the hours that meld into school and drafting and doting and learning.

There's the light at 106th Street that collects worker cars, school cars, gym cars, and the occasional semi-truck heading back toward the city. It's on the slowest timer and I usually find them there, talking and looking around, as I pull into the adjacent lane. I wonder what they're saying...I wonder if Grant has fallen back to sleep...I wonder if Reid is singing radio tunes since, most likely, my husband is listening the The Police. And then I wonder if he'll turn and look my direction...

He does and makes eyes like fireworks exploding on a dark summer night. His lips mouth, "Daddy! There's Mommy!" And then a smaller hand shoots up...with that little mechanical wave. If I could see his eyes...I know they'd be wide pools of blue, inviting me in to take a dip.

I blow Reid a kiss, his exaggerated catch overflows into its landing on his rosy cheek.  

Smooch.

He blows me one and I follow suit. 

Smooch.

The light turns green and the lanes spread us apart... The Jeep heads east and the Charger west. But that's just logistics; we're really altogether.

My heart says we are.

Write on,

b

New trick... | Slice 16:31

Bundled up in his cozy fleece blanket sleeper and wrapped in his polka-dotted chamois blanket, little G's sleepy body fit perfectly into the crook of mine as we rocked tonight before bed.  Sipping on warm milk with one hand, with the other he found my nose...and then his...and then my eyes...and then his...and then my long hair (that most likely tickled his fuzzy forehead) and then his.

As a point of independence, he sat up with a start, handed me the still-warm bottle, and added his version of "All done" (which, incidentally, would have been so much more effective had I included this sound byte).

My heart melted.
But, then again, what can I say -- it always does. With each moment. With each smile.

With each new trick.

Walking over the crib, we said prayers while snuggling as he nestled into the crook of my neck. After one last kiss, I laid him down.

Now typically after saying our 'good-nights,' I sneak out of his bedroom...no more eye contact, no more sound effects, no more...but tonight, I couldn't resist one last peek.

And this is what I saw: one blondie with blue eyes, head turned to track my steps past the doorway and into the hall; his right palm raised toward his soft, lilly-white cheeks and rosy lips.

Smooch.

While his hand moved back toward the mattress, his focus never changed. Eyes locked; hearts fluttered. I had to reciprocate.

My right palm found my lips -- smooch -- and then blew my kiss toward his sweet little smile. If air kisses are like keeping a putt lined up by watching it all the way to the cup, I am pretty sure he received my air mail. And I'm more than sure I received mine.

This new trick will be easy to get used to...

Write on,
b

Thank you... | Slice 15:31

The tired sun chased our car away from the pizzeria tonight. It followed us as we meandered through the Craftsman bungalows of our small downtown area. It jogged beside us passed the dormant golf course and nature trail, as well as the sleepy community pool.

With full bellies, we were sleepy too...and made the short trip home almost as if we'd promised not to say a word.

Until the silence stopped.
Which most typically is sponsored by our four-year-old's silliness. 
Or, scrapbook-sweet queries.  
(You can read about one such conversation here.)

"Daddy?"

We both glanced backward as if taking this scenario's temperature. His left cheek glowed in today's eleventh-hour light. His eyes were soft.

He continued. "I just want to thank you for taking us to a new pizza place for dinner. I really liked it and the pizza was good."

Or sometimes even, statements of affirmation.  

"You're welcome, Buddy. Your kind words mean so much -- thank you for blessing us with them."

As the sky's blue continuum grew bolder and more varied, so did our base of skills to nurture this little one.

And so did our confidence.

Write on,
b

There's a concert tonight | Slice 14:31

There will be a familiar guitar swimming above a familiar beat

And then, a familiar voice will intermingle

Hello, cowgirl in the sand, is this place at your command?

Old enough now to change your name, when so many love you, is it the same?

It's the woman in you that makes you want to play this game...

Another familiar voice, this time with a psychedelic organ in the background

If you smile at me, I will understand

That is something everybody everywhere does in the same language

Wooden ships on the water, very free (and easy)

Easy, you know the way it's supposed to be

And another...sweeter, more contemplative voice 

accompanied by the grand piano's simple chords

I'll light the fire, you place the candle in the vase that you bought today

Staring at the fire for hours and hours as I listen to you play your love songs

All night long for me....only for me

And then, the magical triumvirate will unite

Dododododo, do, do, dodododo

Dododododo, do, do, dodo

Dododododo, do, do, dodododo

Dododododo, do, do, dodo

(Are you humming 'Suite: Judy Blue Eyes' yet?)

It'll speed up

And there's a rose in the fisted glove

And the eagle flies with the dove

If you can't be with the one you love, honey, love the one you're with

Love the one you're with

It'll slow down

All along the lee shore, shells lie scattered in the sand

Winking up like shining eyes at me from the sea

Here is one like sunrise, it's older than you know
It's still lying there where some careless wave
Forgot it long ago

It'll challenge

From the bottom of the ocean to the mountains of the moon

Won't you please come to Chicago

No one else can take your place

We can change the world

Rearrange the world

It'll remember

Guinnevere had golden hair
like yours, mi'lady, like yours
Streaming out when we'd ride 

through the warm wind down by the bay
Yesterday
Seagulls circle endlessly
I sing in silent harmony
We shall be free

It'll galvanize

Tin soldiers and Nixon's coming

We're finally on our own

This summer I hear the calling

Four dead in O-hi-o

It'll encourage

Teach your children well

Their father's hell did slowly go by

And feed them on your dreams

The one they pick is the one you'll know by

It'll connect

Though we rush ahead to save our time

We are only what we feel and I love you

Can you feel it now?

Just a song before I go, to whom it may concern...

There's a concert tonight

Write on,

b

Where I am... | Slice 13:31

This is where I am today...

I'm clunking down my tall, straight stairway in too-big shoes

Almost missing treads I usually make

Slipping around the toe box looking for just the right spot

the familiar spot

with time-worn impressions

to cushion my steps

and bring me back to the places I know best

As twilight fades from cornflower to navy

I search for reminders

to guide me

to nestle my heel

as it sails free

in the shoes of another

clunk

clunk

clunk

But now I've made it

down the treads

past the spot where the stairway angles

and puddles into the cherry-stained floor

despite the bumpy ride

I'm here in

the shoes I have made my own

as I dream of 

another trip up 

on another day

Write on,

b

The work never matches the dream of perfection the artist has to start with.

- William Faulkner

Looking forward, looking back | Slice 12:31

While Grandpa hobbled up two steps into the house and straight toward the great room to nest in the leather armchair with the men, Grandma stood in the sunny entryway eager to explore my family's new house with the ladies. At 89, wrinkly skin hugged her warm brown eyes naturally drawn to detail. I followed her small steps, cradling sweet, sleeping Grant, and listened to her musings.

"Look at the stairway. It's so tall and straight."

You know, I used to have an upstairs like this when the kids were growing up...but now, no more stairs for us!

"Look at the tweed couch. It's so comfortable and new."  

You know, I used to have fresh, cozy furniture...but now, my 'new' couch numbers a decade and is uncomfortable and outdated.

"Look at the countertops. They're so beautiful and sturdy."

You know, I used to have a nice kitchen, my dream kitchen, that we remodeled...but now I just imagine cooking in the fancy spaces I see on Food Network each afternoon. Have you seen Giada's? It's sooooooo pretty."

"Look at the appliances. They're so shiny and modern."

You know, I used to love new gadgets...but now, I don't have room to keep any of them except my coffee maker and egg cooker.

"How do you like your dishwasher?"

You know, I've never had one.

I didn't realize...

Write on,

b

Elusive curls... | Slice 11:31

At mid-back, my hair is the longest it's ever been
Anymore when I go through my hair-drying routine
of plotting my head like a familiar subdivision
and drying each lot one by one around a bristle brush
and letting each curl set before moving onto the next phase
All I get is volume, with a little curl that falls flat
post haste

It's time for a new solution.

Sunday night, I showered before bed
and formulated a secondary plan:
If my old routine isn't working because
I never have enough time to let my curls properly set
what I need is to invite my hair to work
while I sleep so
I divvied, and rolled, and jimmied
the so-called 'handy' foam curlers'
velcro straps
and went to bed looking like my grandmother

Monday morning, I finished drying the too-big
loops of hair cascading out of the too-small curlers
Unrolling each package felt momentous
but tinged with disappointment
More curlers?
More drying time?
More skill?

Later than evening, I explained this week's experiment to my mom over FaceTime. With a sparkle in her eye she shared the solution:

"Well, Brenna, what you really need is a hair dryer like I used to have. You could sit underneath it each morning, drink coffee, and do schoolwork while your curls set. That's what I would do..."

"For how long?"
Hey, she may still have this up in the attic.

"An hour."

"Mom, I'm trying to save time, not spend more time."

"Then maybe you need a hair cut."

And that is it.

Write on,
b

Patience & Mary Janes | Slice 10:31

They first called to me
passing through Nordstrom's shoe sanctuary
as Indian summer played outside under signature cornflower skies
I made a beeline
toward fancy Mary Janes with
teardrop cutouts
a wedge heel
and peep toe
Their black suede exterior
made me think
I'd like to have these; I'd wear them often
At better than $90
my head silenced my heart

A few months passed
I sped through Nordstrom
Finishing last-minute Christmas shopping
Banners pointed toward one section of women's shoes
Clearance
Their faint call became more pronounced
amidst the holiday hustle and bustle
Another beeline
toward triple-tiered racks
brimming with fancy shoes
knock-around shoes
glittery shoes
boat shoes
and
my
Mary Jane
shoes
Encouraging trendy clerks
to dismiss unsightly
wintry toes
hiding beneath knee socks
and tall boots
I tried them on

Cinderella

Today, spring teased us
with impressive warmth
my thoughts ran toward
teardrop cutouts
peep toe
a wedge heel
toenail polish and
black pencil pants
Getting dressed
was fun again
My Mary Janes
were
worth
the
wait

Bonus post script: They're even comfy! :)

Write on,
b

Pie | Slice 9:31

Her talent took on near-mythic proportion in our small town
and spread to surrounding parts
Every Sunday morning she'd rise with the sun
Building pies from scratch
Cutting lard into dry ingredients
Shaping and crimping the crust
ever so perfectly by her deft hands
before pouring in a host of fanciful fillings
Coconut Cream
Gooseberry
Currant
Cherry
Raisin Cream
Strawberry
Peach
Banana Cream
Lemon Meringue
Pumpkin
Mincemeat
Apple
Dutch Apple
Rhubarb
Old-Fashioned Cream
Following each recipe
even those she'd memorized years earlier
to the letter
Cooling they'd sit atop wire racks
on the kitchen counter
while she and Grandpa went down the road to church

Like clockwork we'd visit
a few hours later
round about three or four
for a sliver of the pie du jour
Grandpa would eat his in a bowl, drenched in cold milk
I'd scrape every dollop of filling off the tender crust
Dad would eat my seconds as an tasty accompaniment to his own piece
the handiwork of his mother
her gift
even now
at 90
building, cutting, shaping pies in
her tiny apartment kitchen

This morning,
Grant's chubby fingers grasp his favorite new treat
dried cherries
I nibble on one too
Their tartness reminds me to add another pie
to Grandma's list
Cherry Cream
In my opinion, her best offering
Rich and velvety cream the color of amaranth
embraces each plump, rosy fruit
Baked then chilled
It's the Ritz-Carlton of pies
Flavors that explode like fireworks
pop and dazzle above their silky background
and pamper with each bite

Always looking toward the next project
Grandma will like the one
my brother and I have for her:
to collate her recipes
to share with us her tips
time-honored
and well worn
nuggets of pie-baking wisdom
so we can know
and we can teach
and we can enjoy
the gift she's given us
so many Sundays before
with our own littles
and their littles
someday.

Write on,
b

Welcome comparison... | Slice 8:31

Normally, Saturday stiff-arms me with
school work before the sun rises
then
grocery shopping
dusting
sweeping
school work during the nap window
cooking
dishes
laundry
school work after the sun sets

Today, Saturday comforted me with
time to sleep in
time to meander through
Target's aisles
(Do you like my new art?)  
time to figure out a new car seat
time to freshen up this winter's
tired decor stashed around my house
time to wander through
a nearby mall
time to pick carefully and
buy confidently
time to coast into intersections
time to jog away from them

Time to breathe

Write on,
b

It's Friday | Slice 7:31

It's Friday

I'm home well before everyone today
And even though I always have music on, I don't now
I'm drinking in the silence
The mental gymnastics, race-running, problem-solving, and talking, all dissipate
An organic symphony envelopes me like a chamois blanket

Inside,
The hum of the refrigerator switching gears
The roar of the furnace regulating the internal temperature before 5:00 pm
The water rushing through pipes
The gentle rumbling of cars and trucks as they travel past our neighborhood
The laptop's high-pitched whir

Outside,
The birds chirping and playing
The neighborhood dogs barking while walking past
The mail truck breaking and accelerating, breaking and accelerating
The neighbors arriving home from work and school,
staying outside just a few extra minutes to walk, to ride, to run
before dinner, and bedtime, and bath.

I'm home well before everyone today
And even though I always have music on, I don't now
I'm drinking in the silence
The mental gymnastics, race-running, problem-solving, and talking, all dissipate
An organic symphony envelopes me like a chamois blanket

It's Friday

Write on,
b