2: It's just like...

He concentrates on using a wide, black spatula to 

press down the hash browns 

sizzling inside the electric skillet

while I whisk the eggs 

dancing around inside the large measuring cup

I add the shredded cheddar, 

salt and pepper

while he flips, presses again, and 

remembers

You know why I like to eat at Steak & Shake so much?

I look up, wondering*

*We do all love a crispy-edged cheeseburger...

I can go there anytime

and it is just like

1980

and I’m walking in

with Joe

my grandpa

for a date

He used to take me 

on dates

Just us 

I loved that

before his heart gave out

and mine broke

I like 

my burgers

liberally salted and 

tossed into a screaming

hot electric skillet

to brown on one side

and then the other

before the snug blanket of

Velveeta melts atop

I can make them anytime

and it is just like

1986

and I see Lorraine

my grandma

wearing her apron

in the avocado kitchen

on West Dearborn Street

frying cheeseburgers

for us

I loved that

before she became widowed and moved

into an apartment

and I moved away from home

into an apartment

in the city

She would've loved the

last burgers we made...

We should go 
to Steak & Shake
soon...

Write on,
b

1: I'm here again...

I’m here again

new month, new year

stories, thoughts 

old memories

invite me near to

think

remember

tell about

and

notice

the thready tidbits

begging to be 

crafted into something 

finer

than a pile of remaindered scraps

or a painter's pallet of sectioned bits 

The tapestry grows

stronger

deeper

truer

more intricate, individualized 

with 

each minute

each day

I stop

wide-eyed

to weave

Write on,

b

P.S. I'm taking a page from Elsie's post today.  Here are my initial slices from past SOLS challenges...so fun to go back to older pieces!

2015 -- "Where I'm From..."

2014 -- "The Earring Story"

2013 -- "It's Time..."

2012 --  Slice of Life Story Challenge: 1

Tuesday slice: I didn't intend to write...

I sit here tonight
trying to count
grains of sand
blades of grass
clusters of stars
All equally hard
to gather
to quantify
to order in a way
that is meaningful


Like the way that
she went to bed smiling
but didn't wake up
with the sun
Like the way that
my friend went to bed smiling
but got the call at school
Like the way that
(I'm guessing)
she bent over
first silently
and
then with a
cascading
gasp
big
enough
to drown
the
stack of years
she will spend
missing her mom


I sit here tonight
intending to think about
phonics instruction
and
small group instruction
and
assessment technology
All equally hard
to gather
to quantify
to order in a way
that is meaningful
because
right now
the
only
thing
that makes much sense
is
to
write

Write on,
b

31: Kiss it...

Yesterday, at Grandma's,
the cousins ran willy-nilly
around the
living room-kitchen-family room-foyer
circle
They shrieked and then laughed
shrieked and then laughed
Grant's little steps took him
just a smidgeon right of the loop and
he met the kitchen desk's
bossy corner
POW
I saw the head-on collision
yet I could barely focus in for a closer look
at my shocked little guy
quiet on the kitchen floor
The top point had bullied his eye brow
the bottom edge had pressed into his
supple cheek
two instant purplish signatures
and a growing goose-egg
YOOOOOOOWWWWW
he started crying after what seemed like an eternity
"Mommy, kiss it.  Kiss it."

Today, at home,
the little rode the play firetruck
with reckless abandon
and when that grew old
he transitioned into
pushing the Fisher-Price school bus
like a cheetah chasing prey
He powered down the foyer hallway
(its wood floor is fast)
and then hung a right into the carpeted dining room
What he didn't plan for was the new roadblock
-- me --
kneeling beside the buffet
reading
BANG
He saw the head-on collision
this time before I did
the bus, my tender right knee
{an imagined YOOOOOOOWWWWWW, followed by a gasp}
"Grant, the bus hurt my knee.  Can you tell Mommy 'sorry'?"

"Mommy, I kiss it.  I make it all better.  The bus make it better.  See?"

{Be still, my heart.}

The power of a kiss...

Write on,
b


Post-script:  Today marks the end of 2015's March Slice of Life Story Challenge...and while some stories have been big, and some stories have been silly, your comments have kissed their words and made them better.  I appreciate the way you've invested in my writing life this month, dear Reader. From you I've learned, I've laughed, and I've grown.  May we meet back on Tuesdays, maybe even Saturdays, but definitely every March.  Until then...

30: The one and only...

Her wispy, sable curls
sometimes cover her chocolate eyes
She wipes them away
with emphasis
and moves along to find the next
target
She always does this
like during dinner or
in the car or
at a ballgame or
when she wants more orange juice
in her girly-colored sippy cup
with a straw

Tonight, she picked me to target
Her newly three-year-old self
strides in and catches me
kneeling beside the giant tub
in Grandpa and Grandma's bathroom
as the smaller little 'swims'
She finds a spot to perch
surveying the situation
I know she's up to something
She always is

Me: Do you want to take a bath, too, Emmie?  You can hop in. There's plenty of room.

Emmie: Well, it's not up to me.

Me: What do you mean?

Emmie: 'Is he your kid?' she points at the little's tiny ear half-covered by white-blonde curls.

Me: Yes, he's my kid.

Emmie: I have a booster seat.  Wanna see it?

Me: Hop in the tub.  Taking a bath now will help Mommy and Daddy.

Emmie: But I don't want to get clean.

Me: You can play, though, and that's fun.  Here are some cups.

(She undresses, first tentatively, and then climbs into the tub like the whole exercise was her idea.)

Emmie: But I don't want to wash my hair.  Grandmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.  Grandma has to take me a bath.

(We wait, with baited breath, for Grandma's swift arrival.)

Me: Emmie wants you to 'take her a bath.'  I hear you are the best at baths.

Emmie: Grandmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.  I don't want to take a bath.

Grandma: But you already are, Emmie.  And taking a bath is a good thing.  

(Emmie's mom and baby sister open the pocket door and slide into the bathroom too.)

Emmie's mom: Emmie, you're taking a bath!

Emmie: No, I'm not.  I don't want to take a bath.

(Sheesh.  Girl, you're in the tub.  Quit.)

Emmie: But I won't wash my hair.

Emmie's mom: Yes, you will -- that way you won't have to wash it tomorrow night.

Grandma: Let's play beauty shop!  Here's the special shampoo...  

Emmie: But I won't get it wet...

Me: Alright, little guy -- let's hop out and dry off.

Emmie: But I don't want to get out...


And so it goes
just as it always does
with the one and only

Write on,
b

29: This blank page...

everything that was

and could

be 

escapes me 

now as I sit down to 

type

I

go back to

my favorite topics

stories I'd like to tell

people I love

places I've been

and 

there

is 

nothing

but

this blank page

and the 

will

to try again tomorrow

Write on,

b

28: On becoming a writer who teaches...

Here's my first attempt at a spine poem!

In retrospect, it is a nod to this week's slice on writing mentors.

Write on,

b